


Entropy

by immortalbears



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Aphrodisiacs, Bestiality, Blood Magic, Bloodplay, Demon Sex, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Orgasm, Gangbang, Inflation, M/M, Non-Consensual, Prostate Milking, Rape, Tentacle Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 33,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immortalbears/pseuds/immortalbears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Dragon Age AU) Fenris is Danarius’ prized gladiatorial slave. One day, the magister gives Fenris a gift — a mage in a an anti-magic collar. His name is Anders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1.

**Entropy**

  
  


en·tro·py

1: a measure of the unavailable energy in a closed thermodynamic system that is also usually considered to be a measure of the system's disorder, that is a property of the system's state, and that varies directly with any reversible change in heat in the system and inversely with the temperature of the system; broadly : the degree of disorder or uncertainty in a system

2a : the degradation of the matter and energy in the universe to an ultimate state of inert uniformity

b : a process of degradation or running down or a trend to disorder

3: chaos, disorganization, randomness

  
  


-

  
  


1.

The air smelt of grease and blood. Overhead, the sun was nearly blinding; Fenris stood upright, faced the roaring crowd, and lifted his broadsword, shaggy white hair shielding large green eyes from the sunlight. 

His opponent was an escaped slave who had to serve his penance by a duel to the death with the Arena gladiator. This match was obviously rigged to his favour; the other did not even have properly enchanted armour, and his blades were standard-issue, the sort that could only injure, but not kill. 

The audience were only there to watch the famous “little wolf” tear apart a hapless victim, and he was there to oblige.

There were so many flaws to this man's opening that he could easily have struck him down with one shot. Decapitated him and ended his misery.

He had orders not to do so. 

Instead, he dodged and pummelled the man with the handle of his sword. 

The man's eyes widened, but steeled in angry determination. He charged again, but Fenris dodged again, and elbowed him in the soft underside of his stomach, followed by a kick to the leg – and then a blow to his spine. Within the first few seconds, he was felled.

Fenris grunted. The crowd chanted his name, but all he could think of was his master being up there, watching him. If he did not perform well enough, Danarius would punish him. 

He sighed. 

_How boring._

“You bastard!” The man yelled, “You think you're better just because you have these engravings on you-- but you are nothing but a dog!”

Fenris could see the fire in the eyes of the recaptured slave. Something about that accusation made his markings pulse with anger. 

“I am _not_ a dog!”

The crowd roared once more, as the elven warrior flashed blue. In an instant, the verdict was decided; Fenris was the winner, and the escaped slave made up for more than his worth with the amount of revenue he generated from the equivalent of this public hanging.

In disgust, Fenris threw the human heart onto the floor. Even in the hubris, Fenris could feel its flesh squishing beneath his feet.

The gates rose, and he went through the dark corridor that led to a blood-stained door which swung open easily. “Ah, Fenris.” 

Fenris dropped to his knees. “Master.”

“You may rise.” The Imperium Magister, Danarius, said coolly. He walked towards the elf and placed his hand on his nape, the way a master would with a dog that he had tamed. “The crowd loves it when you do that. You are, without a doubt, my finest handiwork.”

The elf lowered his head, but puffed out his chest proudly.

The human snapped his fingers, and his servants helped Fenris out of his armour, and wiped him down. The way his Master was looking at him, however, told him that he wanted to be pleased with some extra service, since it was an easy match. 

It was part and parcel of being a slave. 

As soon as he was clean, he kneeled down in front of Danarius again and looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. The Magister seemed pleased. Since he did not seem to like having his robes taken off in front of so many people, Fenris brushed his fingertips against the human's crotch. He maintained eye contact as much as possible while drawing his Master's cock from within his smalls, pumping and licking it so that it would become erect enough. 

Danarius patted his head, and signalled for him to stand up. With a firm gesture, the mage-lord pushed him against the wall and lifted his leg. He kept it up pliantly, writhing a little for the human's intrigue.

“You really love me, don't you?” 

“Yes, Master,” he said.

“What do you want me to do, little wolf?”

“Please, fuck my greedy little ass hard, Master.”

The human pressed his lips against the elf's nape, and thrust in deeply against that tight, muscled ass. Fenris' cock was pressed against the hard tiles of the wall; it was nothing but uncomfortable, and he gritted his teeth. Danarius gave no regard to his pleasure, but he moaned aloud anyway, knowing that it pleased the Master.

“Excellent,” Danarius said, as he thrust up hard against Fenris' ass and pumped the last of his seed into the slave's sweet arse. “Dress up. When you are done, I have something to show you.”

Fenris nodded. He did not take the time to clean up. The Master did not give him such instructions, even though he was somewhat aroused.

Danarius seemed to be particularly pleased with himself when he led the gladiator out of the coloseum. “Have this. It is a reward for your excellent services.”

Fenris blinked. “It's a key, Master.”

“The key to his collar,” Danarius said. “They call him Anders.”

The first thing he noticed was how the mage was chained up in an anti-magic collar, with a mask over his head, covering his eyes so that he had to be led like a blind donkey.

“A mage, Master?”

“Yes.” A spark glimmered in Danarius' eyes. “He is a mage.”

It was no surprise, since mages did not fail to collar their own. But this... He would have to think about it. 

“This is too much of an honour, Master. As a lowly slave, I cannot simply accept it.”

“You own slaves, do you not? Well, he is yours,” Danarius said, “Do not make me angry.”

“Thank you, Master. What should I call him?”

“They call him Anders.”

“Does that not refer to the Anders of Anderfel?”

“You are quite bright. Yes.” Danarius replied. “Train your new slave well. I hear that he was quite happy to please the Templars before they sold him.”

Fenris nodded. He took the Mage's leash and led him to his own carriage.

Why did the Magister give him an enslaved mage as a present? The old magi had been eager, at every opportunity, to prove the superiority of mages over warriors. It made absolutely no sense – Unless, of course, this was not a blood mage. Fenris' brows furrowed bitterly. “I see. Anders, is it? You're not from around here.” 

His newly acquired property seemed startled at being addressed, but did not speak. 

_Fasta vass. I should have known Danarius would give me a fucking retard. No, this has to be a trick; a trap to lure me into letting my guard down._

“Did they not train you well wherever you come from?!” He sneered, cutting away the fabric that held the mask in place.

The carriage was moving, but the world seemed to stop as far as Fenris was concerned. Green elven eyes widened as they met honey-brown ones. 

His' heart leapt in his chest, while his breath seemed to have caught in his throat. The mage cringed, as if simply being seen hurt him so. Fenris had never found pale humans attractive, much less flabby, backstabbing spies. This one, however, had a sense of delicacy about him; his cheeks were rosy even as there was a sunken, famished pallor about him. 

“We're here, ser.” 

Fenris led the mage out of the carriage hastily, as if afraid that the world would see his new acquisition.

“Fasta vass...” He muttered under his breath as Anders stumbled over his chains. Chained as he was, he was in no position to run, but the elf was beginning to get impatient with how slowly the mage was moving. 

Fenris relegated him to a household servant, and instructed that the mage be chained to the stairwell at all times, in case he should try something nasty. It was one more mouth to feed, for all he cared. 

“Find him some chores to do.”

His household servant looked up for a moment, and then back down onto the floor. “A human, ser?”

“Master Danarius gave it – him – to me.” Fenris said, “He's a mage.”

The servant's jaws dropped, and for a moment his expression mirrored what Fenris was feeling inside. There was no winning with this new slave. 

It was no secret that mages, too, were not exempt from slavery in the Imperium. So long as they were weaker than the strongest of the magisters – all of whom practised blood magic – they would eventually be collared. The implications, however, were severe; Fenris knew his master far too well for this mage to be a simple, innocent gift. 

  
  



	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris' first encounter with the mage, who is fresh out of solitary confinement. (Beta.)

2.

  
  


“ _Train your new slave well. I hear that he was quite happy to please the Templars before they sold him.”_

Slavery was not just something that was done to elves. It was predominantly done by humans to elves. Some elves also took part in the slave trade as free people, but because elves were second-class citizens wherever they went, they were frequently targetted by the slavers. These slavers would take humans, too, if they came across them, but even so, it was uncommon for a human to be a slave, much less owned by an elf.

Fenris dropped by to inspect the mage again. He had more or less calmed down at the thought of the mage being Danarius' spy. Regardless of whether that was the case, he was told to train him well. 

Whatever Danarius said, he obeyed.

“Master Fenris,” the household servant greeted him, “Everything has been taken care of.”

“From now on,” Fenris instructed, “Anders will be moving upstairs with me.”

“Yes, Master. Anders!” 

“No, that's fine. I'll see him upstairs, later.”

Fenris went back upstairs. If Danarius sent the mage as a spy, he would not have instructed him specifically to train him in such matters. He was still deep in thought when the mage knocked on his door, speaking with a disused voice, “Master, I am here.”

“Come in,” Fenris said. 

Anders presented himself. He was hunched over and dragged his feet – this vaguely reminded Fenris of his own movements, but upon closer examination, there were no lyrium tattoos on the mage. It made him angry; it felt as if the mage was mocking him.

Anders did not respond to whatever he said, but instead, simply got onto his knees.

“What is wrong with you?!” Fenris hissed, “Say something.”

The mage tilted his head, as if he did not understand what his new master wanted from him. He made a tiny, feral noise from deep within his throat, as if he was afraid that the elf would hit him. Not that Fenris himself had never once beaten a slave before – it was what had been done to him, after all. 

“I'm not going to hit you. Now stop playing dumb. You can speak, can't you?”

The blonde nodded, the edges of his eyes crinkling up. When he did speak, his voice was hoarse, and the emphasis of his syllables quite unlike anything Fenris had ever heard of. “Yes, sir.”

“Where did you come from?”

“I don't know, sir.”

“They call you Anders. Did you come from the Anderfels?” Fenris asked again, his voice now hard and steely. 

“...I'm a mage.”

“I know.” Fenris rubbed his temples. He tapped his foot impatiently. “Master Danarius gave you to me, and now I have to train you. What I'd like to know, is why you are here, acting like nobody has even taught you the basics of being a slave.”

The human lowered his head, bewilderment dancing in his eyes. “I'm sorry, sir. The Templars-- they put me Solitary for a year.”

“A year?!” Fenris could not believe his ears. Solitary confinement was one of the worst punishments that Danarius had ever meted out to his slaves, although he did not personally get that punishment, since he took pride in serving. “What did you do?”

Anders looked like he was unable to comprehend what the elf meant. 

“It is of wonder that somebody like you are beaten so thoroughly, that you are barely a husk. Tell me, what did you do to deserve one year's worth of solitary confinement?”

“I escaped, sir. From the Circle in Ferelden.”

“Surely they couldn't have decided to expend one cell just to feed and clothe you for one year just for running away.” Fenris had heard of the Circle of Magi in Ferelden. The templars supervised them, unlike in the Tevinter Imperium, where they were self-policing.

“...Seven times.” 

Fenris nodded, satisfied at the answer. Of course, that would not happen to him, since he served Danarius so well that his Master essentially considered him to be an asset rather than a nuisance. “Pfah. Do that here, and we'll just kill you. Can you cook? Clean? What can you do?”

“They don't let us do that in the Circle,” Anders said, “We studied and practised magic.”

“You're not casting a single spell under my watch.” He had seen enough blood magic to satisfy a lifetime's worth of curiousity. The anti-magic chain was staying on the mage.

Amber eyes met his again, as the mage lifted his head, desperation in his voice. “I-- Don't make me tranquil. Please. I... I know tricks with magic that can please you.”

“Is there nothing that you can do without magic? I do not have time for this... ruse.” Fenris sneered, “Venhedis... You might as well be Tranquil, then at least you'd be of some use.”

“No! Please!” Anders pleaded. He began to undress, slender fingers quickly undoing the laces of his tunic to reveal pale skin underneath. The forlorn look on his face and the fragile quality of his voice added to the sense of vulnerability that this mage had, and before Fenris knew it, he'd stepped out of his leggings, pressing his rock-hard erection against the mage's hollowed cheek.

The elf looked down with half-lidded eyes, amazed at the fact that the mage was even stroking himself while licking the tip of his cock. 

He tapped his foot, “Concentrate, mage.”

Anders looked at him pleadingly, using both hands and plenty of spit to lube him up, and begun to earnestly start sucking with varying intensity. Then, his hand traveled down again. He was using his entire body for just one blowjob; Fenris found it incredible. It was as if he'd gotten used to the idea of enjoying himself while servicing others – something that Fenris had never been able to do. 

It was always a chore for him, not something to be enjoyed – Danarius made sure of that with strict rules that had to be adhered to between the two of them. 

So, that was what Danarius meant when he told him to train his new slave. _Not bad_ , he thought. The mage was skilled, but most importantly, he did seem to enjoy what he was doing, even if it was with somebody that he had barely met. Fenris could only imagine that Danarius would want to see the two of them in action one of these days. 

And that voice-- _Venhedis_ , the little sounds that he made as he sucked and licked in alternating rhythm, with what seemed like hunger for close physical contact – it was enough to drive any man insane. 

The mage plied his tongue against the frenulum while sucking over the head. He let out an inhuman growl when those lips left his cock and he heard moans of genuine pleasure coming from the mage, free of honeyed words and contrived tones.

Fenris had seen – and slept with – his share of good-looking men and elves while in Danarius' service, but never somebody who incited such a deep, bestial lust within him. He was about to punish him for stopping so suddenly, just when he was enjoying it so much, when Anders leaned back to show his bare body and rock-hard erection. 

The coquettish blush on his cheeks did not help matters; Maker's breath, this was an exquisite specimen of humankind.

The elf smirked, and made no move.

The mage whimpered softly, eyes glazed over from lust.

“Do not make me punish you. Your duty is to serve me, not to satisfy your own desires.” He remembered how Danarius trained him – it was the creed with which he himself served. Anders would do well to know what being a slave meant in the Imperium.

Anders nodded. He licked his lips again, wetting them – and then began to take in Fenris' cock once more. 

“Venhedis...” The warrior lost his patience. He held the human's head in place and began to throat-fuck him in earnest. With a final thrust, he emptied his load inside of the mage's throat, hands firm against the sides of the mage's soft blonde locks. 

Fenris sat on a chair, breathing deeply. He hadn't come so hard in his life, except when he was being milked for a lengthy session with Danarius.

Anders' gaze remained on him as he swallowed, one hand still stroking his own erection, the other running across his own chest. 

Fenris licked his lips in satisfaction. It was a beautiful sight, but he had other things to do. “Do you want me to put a chastity belt on you?”

“Please, don't.”

“Then put on your clothes. You do not have permission to get off, so do not.”

“Yes, sir.” 

He watched idly as the mage put his clothes back on, enjoying the awkward position that he had to take with his arousal in the way. Skilled did not even begin to cover it; it was the sort of desperation that seemed to plague every move of his that made denying him pleasure so much more intriguing.

“Dress me when you are done.”

Anders tightened his own belt and smoothed his hair, then picked up Fenris' clothes, and helped him in them. The elf lazily reached into the sleeves... And, when he was done, turned around and began to leave. 

“You may be my personal servant from now on. If you are good, I will take you with me when I visit Master Danarius.”

To his surprise, Anders held onto the edge of his jacket, like a desperate dog trying to keep its owner from leaving. 

He slapped the mage's hand away. “What is wrong with you?!”

It did not stop Anders from trying again, this time even more forcefully. “Please. I don't want to be alone. I'll do anything...”

Fenris sneered. For a moment, he could feel himself being in the same shoes. He did not remember anything prior to the ritual of having lyrium poured into his flesh, but an image of himself as a child having the temerity to even hold on to Danarius' leg began to emerge in his mind. The magister simply kicked him away and got his men to beat him up. 

“I could easily break your back by stomping on it like this,” He said, with contempt. “You are nothing without your magic, mage. Do not forget that.”

Anders' breath came out shallow, but Fenris never had it in him to make things personal like Danarius did. He hated mages, it was true, but he also enjoyed his privileges as a prized warrior and slave.

“Do not blame me, mage. It was simply the way things should be. The strong will rule the weak.”

And he – Fenris – was _not_ weak.

 


	3. 3.

  
  


3.

The sun had begun to set in the courtyard when Fenris was done with his training regimen. The amount of training that he'd gotten on the day of a match was usually dissatisfying, but he felt vaguely rejuvenated from the certainty of having his sword hit the mannequin with some certainty. He did not trust anybody enough to spar with them, but the actuality of being in the fight had given him plenty of experience. Perhaps it was time to arrange for a decent sparring partner.

How about that mage? He wondered. Did he use blood magic? No, it was unlikely that he did, because he was a complete fool who had gotten himself enslaved. Fenris wondered what the mage's specialization was. It couldn't be because he was a blood mage. 

Fenris returned to his room. 

Anders' gaze was blank.

Fenris recognized that look; it was the face of a defeated man, one whose spirit had been completely broken simply by the reminder of what had once broken him.

“Tch.” He gritted his teeth. “Mage!” 

When the blonde did not budge, Fenris went up and kicked him in the shins.

“Get up!” He yelled.

Those amber eyes seemed to have neither light nor life in them; Fenris gave up and lit the nearby candle. He glared at the useless slave, trying to figure out how to get him to respond. He had very limited memories, and except the grotesque discomfort that Danarius' touch inspired in him at times when he was being punished. 

Humiliation could do the trick, he thought, if pain would not. Either way, he didn't have a crop on hand; those were usually left for more severe infractions in his household. 

With a gauntleted hand, he lifted Anders' head by his hair. 

“Filthy little whore...” He sneered, “Weren't you begging me to stay? Well, now I'm back.”

The mage responded with a small shiver, and light returned to those brilliant eyes. Something knotted within Fenris' stomach, and he pulled those blond locks hard enough that Anders had no choice but to stand up on his own, or risk getting his scalp yanked off. 

“Is this how you greet your master?”

“...Sir.” Anders' voice was raspy, and he had the pallour of a dead man. “I'm sorry.” 

Fenris saw that his lips were red and bruised – from biting down hard, probably. “What's your speciality?”

“I've been trained to service multiple templars at once, sir.” 

“That's not what I was asking for.” Fenris' head ached, and he felt like he needed a bath. It was a good thing that Danarius did not like to share quite that often. “Your magic. What can you do with it?”

Life seemed to return to the blonde's face with that question, and he seemed genuinely happy to be able to talk about it. “I know destruction magic, a bit of force magic, and I'm... a healer. I'm a spirit healer, sir.”

 _Spirit healer._ Fenris wondered why Danarius had given him such an expensive... rare... slave. Danarius probably knew what he was. He cursed, “Kvetch! Don't pretend to be innocent. Tell me, what did Master Danarius want you to do?” 

“He said to keep you in top condition, sir.” Anders' tone was sincere, as far as Fenris could tell. “You are worth a lot to him.”

Fenris wasn't sure if what he felt was the sting of pride or the leash of his own chains. He let go of the mage's hair, and considered removing the collar. “You will only cast spells at my behest. Is that clear?”

The mage nodded. He seemed to finally be regaining his mental faculties, at the very least.

Fenris looked at his shelves. Rehabilitating a broken human wasn't his job; his job was killing them, and occasaionally fucking them. Was that-- He found that his inkwell was filled, and that there were words on the spare parchment that he'd kept around. It did not look Tevinter. 

“You... are literate.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, sir.” Anders replied. “It was just something I wrote, memories... Things that often came back to me in the dark.”

Fenris had never been taught how to read and write, but it was a terrible idea for his own slave to know that fact. He put it aside, wondering if he should forbid the mage from doing so, but it was an incredible waste. Moreover, Fenris was certain that whatever the mage had been doing in his spare time probably helped. He let out a soft growl, and said, “It is yours to use. But if I find out that you're abusing this privilege...”

The elf glowed, and his hand touched human's heart. Wet. Sloppy. So very squishy. When things came down to it, everybody was disgusting on the inside, no matter how beautiful they were... Like that bloody mage and his impeccable face.

Anders immediately froze and ceased breathing, long after Fenris' fist left his chest cavity, with his heart still in place. “...I will rip it out of your chest. Is that clear?” 

When the healer got his breath back, Fenris was already dragging him by his leash towards the dining room. It was a small affair compared to Danarius' mansion, but slaves who owned property (under the permission of their masters, who still owned whatever the slave did) were exceedingly rare. 

When the food came to the table, Fenris made sure that Anders ate separately. Slaves simply did not eat together with their master, and the elf made sure that this rule was observed to the letter. When he went to check on Anders again, he was not surprised to find that the mage had not eaten much.

“Are you trying to rebel?!” Fenris mumbled, frustrated that his kindness was being turned down by Anders. 

The mage pathetically lifted another spoonful of the gruel and sipped it, looking utterly miserable as he did so. It was under Fenris' watchful gaze that he managed to finish the entire bowl, and by then, the elf was cursing and swearing profusely in Tevinter.

“Sir.” His servant came to see what the problem was, but Fenris waved him away. 

“He's... different.” Fenris managed to say, pacing up and down in annoyance. “If Danarius finds out that he's not eating well under me... No. Give him what I eat, and let him eat with me next meal. I will make sure that he does.” 

Being denied food by masters were one of the lesser forms of punishment in the houeshold. Fenris knew that fairly well, mostly because it was what had been done to him. A couple of missed meals, and one wouldn't have the energy to resist.

But this... 

He could see it in the mage's eyes. 

Anders wanted to die.

  
  



	4. 4.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NON-CON WARNING IN THIS CHAPTER.

 

For the whole night, Fenris could not sleep. Anders had bathed him and given him a medical examination (it seemed that an old wound of his could have healed better, and Fenris no longer felt the dull ache that seemed to emanage from his chest whenever it was cold, or whenever he had to bathe) and some adequate treatment. 

They talked little; after dinner, the warrior avoided looking at the mage as much as he could, dragging him this way and that by the leash outside of the mansion, to the garden behind his backyard.

When he did finally look at the mage, however, with his elegant profile and chiseled features, Fenris saw that there was a trace of solace in those amber eyes. They seemed to sparkle under the moonlight, even as Anders held the lamp with frail fingers.

“Show me what you can do.” Fenris commanded, “Cast the spells that you know onto that mannequin.”

It wasn't very flammable, but he was certain that Anders could set it on fire if he so wished. The mage blinked at him, and obeyed without much adieu. He was using only his basic attacks-- which suited Fenris just fine, considering that his skills as a healer was undoubtedly amazing.

“...Fire, frost and lightning.” The elf was surprised at the range of elemental energy that this healer knew. “Anders. How old are you?”

The mage blinked at him in confusion. 

“I said, how old are you?!” 

“I... I don't know, sir.” He stammered. 

Fenris made a loud disgruntled noise a click of his tongue. It disturbed him just how skinny the mage was, how malnourished he looked,, and how the way he moved seemed to resemble his own when the ritual had just been completed. “Whatever that... sickness... is... _Look_ , you're a healer. Couldn't you heal yourself?”

Anders shook his head. 

Fenris frowned, and snapped the runed collar back onto the mage. He began to pace around again like a caged animal, trying to figure out whether he should bring the mage to Danarius in such a state. No, it would not do. If the Master wanted to see him, he would have to order it. There was no way he was going to bring a wild card without first ascertaining that the mage would not turn against him. But how to ensure Anders' loyalty? Threats... No, threats would not be enough. He thought of taking away the inkwell and parchment from Anders and threatening to put him in solitary again, but Anders would simply starve himself. 

Fenris could force-feed him, but just because one was brow-beaten into submission didn't mean that he wouldn't retaliate. He had seen freshly collared slaves try to escape or reclaim their past lives. This was not something that he could risk. Not with his current status.

“You like the outdoors.” 

Anders nodded. 

“I'll bring you out here more often, if you're good.” 

“Really?” The way the mage's face lit up made Fenris' heart pound in his chest.

“Do I look like I'm joking?” He retorted, unsure of whether he was being mocked. Instead, he turned away, trying not to reveal just how flustered he was. It was... an unfamiliar feeling. One that he was not accustomed to.

Whoever that mage was, he was more dangerous than he seemed at first glance, in more ways than one. Fenris wondered if Danarius knew this, but it seemed inconclusive. 

“I'm sorry. It's just that the templars never offered to let me out of the cell. Not once.” Anders breathed in deeply, brown eyes in the shape of upturned crescents. He paused, and said, “...It seems that slaves in Tevinter are more free than mages in Ferelden.”

Fenris bristled at the comment. “I would hardly call this freedom.”

The mage looked away. It seemed, at first, that he was rebuffed, but an indignant look crossed his face and he replied, voice breaking from the lack of usage, “Do you think we had it great in Ferelden? As long as a child is discovered to have magic, the templars descend upon your village just to hunt you down. No matter where you go-- they will hunt you down and bring you into the circle, just because of how the Maker made you. And if you resisted, you were beaten, your family threatened... If anybody tried to hide you, they would be in danger too.”

The elf's eyes widened. Never had anybody dared to talk to their masters in such a manner. It must have been because he was an elf, and an elven slave at that. The mage overstepped his bounds. A snarl crossed his lips; he grabbed the mage by his collar, runes glowing. “The Maker certainly did not make you superior, _mage_.”

“Would equal be too much to ask for?” 

“Equal?” The elf sneered, “You have no right to talk about being equal.”

“In Ferelden, people think that elves should not be enslaved, but somehow make an exception for something we have no choice over.” Anders would not back away. He coughed, however, at the elf's iron grip; the collar was hurting his neck.

“Tch!” Fenris took a deep breath, his simmering resentment wanting to burst out at any point in time. If it was anybody else, he would have slugged the offender across his face and slammed his face onto his knee. A cruel look crossed his face, he shoved the mage down onto the ground. “Strip.”

The mage simply looked away, as if to indicate that he had no desire for a confrontation. Neither did he make any move at taking off his clothes; he was looking at one of the servants, who had apparently gone out to fetch a bucket of water.

Fenris slapped him on the cheek, leaving a stinging mark. “You heard me, mage. Shut up about Ferelden. Now strip, or I will do it for you, and I will make sure that you won't be able to walk tomorrow.”

It was clear what the warrior wanted. 

Anders swallowed hard, and began by lifting his tunic – only to have the elf grind his barefooted heel into his crotch like he was nothing but trash. He keeled over, gasping in pain. 

Fenris showed no mercy as he turned the blonde around like he was a rag doll – a rag doll with a larger frame, but with such withered muscles from the year of Solitary that he may as well have been a skeleton, ripped those thin cotton pants off with his clawed gauntlets, and dug the tip of those spikey metal into his hip. 

As the blonde tried to shield his crotch with both hands, the silver haired elf looked at him with open contempt. 

“Apologize!”

Anders shook his head stubbornly.

Cool green eyes positvely seethed with anger, and the elf lit up his markings. The mage cried out in surprise and tried to keep as still as possible, but cold metal gauntlets scraped across his most sensitive spot within.

“Ungh!” Amber eyes were soon filled with tears. “No! Stop! I'm sorry!”

Fenris withdrew his phased gauntlet, and deactivated his markings.

The mage looked at him with bewilderment. There was, after all, many ways to show the slave who the master was in this situation. There was nothing but silence in the yard, but the elf was certain that the servants were watching. It filled him with a twisted sense of satisfaction, as he gripped the human's hair, bringing his face to his crotch. “If you don't do this well, you'll be in pain.”

Anders swallowed, and opened his mouth wide; his hands already moved down to his own semi-erection, which was already dripping pre-cum from Fenris' touch earlier. 

“Put your mouth to use on what it's good for, filthy whore. And don't ever spout that filth in front of Danarius if you want to live.” 

Those thin, soft lips wraped themselves around his cock, and it was then that Fenris knew what made him so angry. Anders had apologized, it was true.

But he was the one who had lost the argument, because he was reminded of the prisoner – the one who called him a dog.

Fenris bit his lips and pushed Anders aside, suddenly losing his drive for domination. He said nothing as he dragged Anders back inside on his leash; it seemed to cause the mage terrible pain, but he did not care. As soon as they were back in his room, he shoved the mage down onto his bed.

No matter what he did, no matter which position he tried to take the mage in, no matter how much lube he used – he could not forget the mage's words. 'Would equal be too much to ask for?'

“There is no such thing as equality.” Fenris hissed into the mage's nape, rutting against his back like an angry wolf. “Say it!”

“....It hurts...” Anders' voice came out softly, quietly.

“There's no such thing as equality, mage scum!” He pinched the mage's nipples, hard enough to hurt, and possibly bruise. “Does it hurt, huh? Answer me, worthless slut. This is all that you're good for, weakling. You're nothing without your magic...”

Just like those magisters.

Anders' eyes rolled back and his body twitched involuntarily, both from the pain and from sheer exhaustion of being used like that. By the time the night was over, the blond's eyes had lost their shine; cum coated his body as he lay there, not living, not thinking – only breathing.

There was blood. 

Too much blood for Fenris' comfort.

The warrior crawled off the mage's back and saw with horror his final handiwork. 

That pale skin was bruised and bloodied in multiple places, and he was almost afraid that if he didn't get his newly acquired property a health potion, the poor sod would just die. 

“Drink this!” He demanded, forcing the mage's mouth open. The mage simply looked at him with cold, dead eyes, and the liquid, to his chagrin, poured out from the edge of the mage's mouth. “Damnit... Mage! Drink it, or you'll die!”

A flicker of life came into those once-bright eyes, and Anders closed his eyes, tears trickling down at the edge. Fenris poured the potion into his mouth, and fed it to the mage with long, deep kisses. He exhaled in relief as those bite marks and bruises disappeared, leaving flawless smooth skin. 

Exhausted, he slumped back onto his bed and held the mage possessively.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions forced bestiality.

5.

Fenris dreamt. 

He usually dreamt of the pain that the ritual had caused him, because he had no memories to speak of. It was the singular most painful experience that he ever had, and he dreamt of it a lot. It was usually the way pain seemed to burn every part of his body; it was a bright, hot, sharp pain that engulfed his entire being and made him unable to breathe. On the nights that he had that dream, he would wake in cold sweat. 

Then, there were those collars. Those Saarebas collars... They created a fog in his mind that made him unable to speak or concentrate. They were training collars, to be removed once the slave was compliant enough. Anti-magic collars would be introduced in place if the slave was a mage, and Fenris wore that until he had proven his loyalty to Danarius. Sometimes he still dreamt of being in a collar like a Qunari mage. “Bas Saarebas”, they called the Magisters. To prove their superiority, the magisters did the same thing in return to those who did not possess magic. Those dreams often ended when he agreed to put on a Saarebas collar, because Danarius only considered slaves pliant if they would willingly collar themselves.

Sometimes he would dream that Hadriana, Danarius' apprentice, had woken him up by slicing open his skin, healing him up, and repeating it until he passed out from the pain. Fenris never had any proof, because she'd always, without a doubt, kept him free of scars. She stopped, eventually, when he was lucky enough to move into Danarius' bed chambers. Finally, Danarius had plans that did not involve him, and he had proven himself to be of so much value to the Magister that he was one of the few who were lucky enough to get their own estate. On those nights, he would wake up to generalized aches and pains in his lyrium-etched flesh, and he would pour himself some wine to get rid of the pain.

On that particular night, with his head propped up against the mage's heaving chest, Fenris dreamt of his master's smile as he was dropped off onto the estate. 

At first, he had been apprehensive to leave. What would he do without Danarius? How would he know what Danarius' needs were, and how to please his master from so far away? 

As if sensing his hesitance, Danarius patted him on the back of his neck, calling him his “little wolf”, telling him that he would be rewarded if he was a good boy. He was genuinely sad; he had felt abandoned by his master. 

Fenris jolted awake when the rooster in the yard signaled that it was time for him to wake up. The unfamiliar sensation of a warm body pinned beneath him was... 

“Master?! I'm sorry!” He hurriedly got up. “I will get to it--”

Amber eyes fluttered open, and the human below him curled up as far away from him as was possible. 

It was not Danarius; the warrior exhaled in relief. He would have been disgusted, or angry, at the mage for simply being there, for triggering his worst fears when this was in fact nothing but a worthless mage who couldn't fight for himself without his magic... 

The human shook in fear.

“Mage.” Fenris cupped his forehead as memories from last night came back to him. He murmured, “Shit... I can't show you to Danarius like this.” Not until Danarius' instructions got more precise, anyway.

Anders looked away. 

The elf glared at him. The fact that Danarius had given the mage to him without a Saarebas collar meant that he was of no threat – possibly because he was unable to speak properly previously. 

Now, though, he was nothing but trouble.

“Do you truly believe what you said last night?” Fenris asked, pulling at the mage's chain so that Anders had no choice but to lean close to him if he wanted to breathe. 

“Why didn't you just... let me die?”

Emerald eyes widened. _How dare--_

Tears rolled down the side of the mage's cheeks, down onto his chin, dripping on the collar like a stream. It was then that the elf realized that it was more of a lament than a rhetorical question.

“Why don't you just kill us as infants?!”

Fenris' upper lip curled up in contempt. He looked at Anders in the eyes, and said, “You're a mage in Tevinter who can can read and write. Learn some blood magic and get apprenticed to a master. I have no idea what Danarius wants from you, but you are clearly worth something to him.” 

“Whatever he wanted has already been done.”

The mage's words rang hollow. The elf had an inkling that it was referring to last night. Was that Danarius' plan? “What do you mean by that? Answer me, mage.”

Anders chuckled bitterly, as if it was something obvious that Fenris was missing. “I will not resort to blood magic.” 

Fenris' heart beat faster. 

“In the Circle... The _Templars_ ,” Anders practically spat out the word, “Force us to either resist a demon or die. They try with all their means to make us turn into abominations so that they'll have a reason to kill us.” 

It made sense. Danarius wanted the mage to turn to blood magic. If he did, he would be much more powerful, and thus worth a lot more than what he'd paid for. Perhaps Danarius was sick of Fenris... Perhaps he had outlived his usefulness. The thought bugged Fenris more than it should; if that was the case, he would be dead. This... mage... was a threat as much as a liability.

“You're not a mage, so you would not know: to use blood magic, you have to look at a demon in the eye and promise them your soul. Do you think I would do that? There are worse things than death.” 

The elf rubbed the back of his neck. The whole concept of other Circles never occurred to him; he was mostly familiar with the ineffectual Circle of Tevinter. Either way, he would have to see it for himself if he were to believe Anders' words.

“I know that Andraste said that magic must serve man, not rule over him. Wanting to be equal is not the same as ruling over him.”

Fenris looked at him like he was insane. 

The human implored him with wide, almost naïve eyes. “You're a slave, too. You should understand what it's like!”

“You know nothing!” The elf growled. He was exhausted, and did not want to risk killing the mage without Danarius' express instruction. “You're in Tevinter... Not Ferelden. I don't care what you did to end up there. You're here _now_. And you're _mine_.”

Well, technically, he was Master Danarius'. But Fenris couldn't exactly say that. If he did, he wouldn't be asserting his ownership over his new slave.

“And everything of mine belongs to Master Danarius, mage. If I died, you would just go back to him. He can recall any of this at a moment's notice. You will never be free even if I die.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I just... Okay. Shiiit, I have to practise, and... You are a distraction.”

Anders looked away. “I never asked--”

“Look. I'm suddenly given this fool mage and told that he's my property. I should train him and discipline him, and that's what I intend to do. As a slave, you do not think of your own pleasure, or freedom.” The elf sighed. “I presume that Master Danarius does not want you to die, but could make your life hell if he wished to. There are many uses for a corpse in the Tevinter Imperium, especially for a mage like you. Yet he does not want that. He entrusted you to me.”

“Do not tell me that you did all of that for entirely altruistic reasons.” The mage's tone of voice made Fenris feel like the worst person in existence. “You were far more brutal than any Templar has--”

He snarled. “Be glad I did not kill you.”

“...Some things are worse than death.” It was a murmur, but resolute nonetheless.

“So, you'd rather be collared like a Qunari Saarebas instead of a human slave, I take it. Perhaps reanimated into a party favour in Danarius' mansion? Suspended in embalming fluids as an example of a traitor and a rebel?”

“No! Please!”

“Then _shut up._ If you want to die, do so without endangering me.” Fenris snorted. He evaluated the mage's body as the human finally clamped his mouth shut, examining him for scars. There weren't any, so he put on some clothes, and tossed a new set to the mage.

Anders looked at the torn, crusted tunic in disgust and flinched like a rabbit meeting a wolf when the elf's gauntlets rattled against his chain. With his shoulders slumped over, he tried to move as delicately as he could, as far away from Fenris as was possible without being choked by the collar.

“Hurry up, _mage_.” 

The blond covered his mouth and looked like he wanted to vomit when food was presented to him at the table. 

“You will eat. I will let you read, write and even go out if you do as I say. I will let you learn the basics of Tevinter law, on the condition that you must keep your writing and books to yourself.“ Fenris raised his fork and bared his sharp elven fangs. “If you don't, what happened last night will only be the beginning.”

Anders winced, clearly remembering the pain from the night before. Tears pooled up at the edge of his eyes again.

Maker, Fenris hated seeing people cry. It was bad when women did it and he could do nothing about it, but it was worse when men did and they were as vulnerable as the mage was. They would be looked down upon and that would become the reason for further abuse. 

And yet, he had no doubt that if the human was in his position, he would do the same. 

With a calculated smirk, he gloated, “...Or are you such a filthy slut that you cannot eat without having cum season your food? Alas, you have already milked me of every last drop, as I'm sure you have done to your dear, sweet Templars. But I am not without mercy: there are a couple of stallions in the stable for whom I'm sure your skills can be put to good use... Loose as you already are.”

The mage steeled himself, wiped the tears from his eyes, and forced himself to eat. When their gazes met, the mage's amber eyes positively seethed with fury.

The elf simply glared back with a gloating smile, until the mage looked away in frustration. His words were having their intended effect. Now it was time to determine what Danarius' motives were... If he could pry it out of the Magister. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forever in Beta. *flies away*  
> Comments of any sorts would be appreciated; I really do want to know what people's reactions to the characters are.


	6. 6.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This part contains Tentacles being utilized in a dub-con manner. Danarius/Fenris.

 

“I see that you have not brought that Ferelden slave here. Did he please you, my little wolf?” The Magister smiled as the elf took off his clothes and wiped the crusts of blood and sinew off his own armour.

“The Ferelden has been trained by the Templars, sir.” Fenris replied, eyes averted. He tried to think of a suitable way to tease out Danarius' expectations. “But he does not seem aware of what the duties of a slave is. I humbly request that I may acquire a Saarebas collar for him.”

The old magister stroked his beard in amusement. “I've tried him once. He was skilled and pliant, but useful for little else. The Templars of Ferelden seemed to have broken him... But do tell, what has he done to warrant a Saarebas collar?”

“...He...” Fenris fell silent for a moment. “He spoke of the Ferelden Circles, sir. I reminded him, time and time again, that he is a slave here in Tevinter, not in Ferelden.”

“I see. It is a good thing that I have given him to my most precious and loyal Fenris.” 

Danarius stroked his beard and settled down onto the couch, while Fenris wiped himself down. “Thank you, Master Danarius. I will not let you down.”

”Ferelden mages are slaves to the Templars, under the direction of the Chantry,” Danarius smirked. “One would assume that he should know how to behave. But for all of their hypocritical claim that magic is a _sin_ , they would find no better way to serve man than with magic... As you surely know by now.” 

The elf nodded, and applied the oil which Danarius had just given him all over his body, taking care in particular to grease up his arse so that it shone. 

“In that case, very well. I will consider collaring him the next time you bring him here.”

As the human got up, Fenris got onto his knees, head lowered. “Thank you, Master.” 

“You are my loyal pet.” Danarius rubbed his thumb over the warrior's nape. “It would be fascinating to have your stubborn little Mabari play with my little wolf someday. Tell me, Fenris, have you sunk your teeth in him yet?”

Were this in the past, the elf would have brimmed with pride. Now, haunted by thoughts of Anders replacing him as Danarius' favourite, he felt absolutely helpless and worthless. He mumbled, “Yes, Master Danarius. I have.”

“Was his... Delicate mage flesh delicious?”

Fenris flinched, as memories of how the mage had looked in the aftermath of his deed assaulted him. _That pale, bony frame coated with cum... Those tears brimming up at the edge of the man's eyes..._ He gritted his teeth. “Yes, Master Danarius. I found him quite enjoyable.”

“Good. You shall have to show me someday. Mmm... Your glowing lyrium-etched skin against his soft, Ferelden flesh... The Circle in Ferelden has done nothing but produce weaklings.”

 _Weaklings._ The elf's ear twitched. Was that Danarius' point? 

“But you, you are strong, and you are loyal.”

“Only to you, Master Danarius.” 

“Good.”

Was Danarius toying with him? Fenris couldn't tell; one simply did not question their master. Still, if the Magister was dissatisfied with him, he would not hesitate to discipline him. He could only conclude that the Magister had no other plans for the mage except as a sex slave for his own egotistic satisfaction, which was bewildering. He did as the old man beckoned, flexing and presenting his body for the magister's pleasure, staying in position when Danarius indicated so.

“I cannot wait, Fenris.” The magister's voice lowered to a purr. He seemed to be pleased with what the elf was doing, the way he massaged the human and then lowered himself onto the human's cock reverently. “Your lyrium markings probably have attuned you to the magic in him. A rare Ferelden mage and my precious little wolf... You will make a great conversation piece at parties.”

The elf stiffened at the thought, but did not cease moving his hips. “Should I prepare for an upcoming party?”

“Not yet.” 

“What should I prepare for, Master...?”

“Oh... There is another use for him besides our entertainment. See... He shall be your ace in the hole. That Anders is a spirit healer, correct? He will come useful in a fight.” 

“...Master. Arena rules say that there must be no magic cast on either contestants by an outside party.” Fenris took care not to sound accusatory.

“Exactly. But, let us say that a spirit healer casts a spell on himself. It happens to also heal one of the contestants.”

“I... See.” 

“My little wolf... I will be away for a while. Since I will not see you in a bit... Let's make this a memorable session, shall we?” Danarius whispered into his ear. “Pass me the knife.” 

Fenris lowered his head, and reached for the knife on the table beside the couch, struggling to keep Danarius' erection inside him as he stretched forward. He handed Danarius the hilt, and braced himself. Danarius cut him from behind, on the fleshy part of his shoulder.

The Magister murmured in approval as that tight, muscled elven arse tightened around his cock. 

Fenris flinched, but otherwise made no sound.

The mage licked off some of the blood, enthralled with its taste. Then, he ran his fingers through Fenris' hair, the way one would when patting a pet.

Match-fixing was punishable by decapitation, public humiliation, and torture. Fenris knew that. He also knew that there was no way Danarius would be punished if Anders were to get caught. Anders was technically his property, acting under his command. 

It filled him with dread, but he would have to consult the healer on this matter. 

At the very least, it would ensure that he would remain alive... For better or for worse.

Fenris' face paled as blood continued to drain from his body; his cock remained flaccid from the pain, even with Danarius stroking his nipples as if he was a toy.

He whimpered.

“Shhh.” The mage said, somewhat comfortingly. He pried Fenris' mouth open, put a bottle of healing potion to his lips, and beckoned the elf to tilt his head. 

There was magic. It was a summoning spell; Fenris knew. It wasn't long before slimy, phantom-esque tentacles pried at the elf's arsehole.

“You're such a wonderful pet,” Danarius praised him, and he moaned in pain as the tentacles stretched his opening wide alongside his Master's cock. “This lyrium attracts the best of them.”

_It's huge... It hurts! Take it out... It hurts..._

The elf had made it a habit not to show his pain easily, but he too remembered how Anders had pleaded him to stop. He could not stop, because Danarius did not stop. If Anders were in Danarius' position, he would have absolutely done the same thing to him – it was all justified, in the end.

Mages were all the same. The only difference between Danarius and Anders was that one owned him, and the other did not. 

A thin, barbed, tentacle wrapped itself around his cock, squeezing and pumping his shaft. Fenris recognized its effect; it was shadow damage. It made him feel particularly feverish, even as his cock began to get engorged.

“You're so quiet,” Danarius commented. “Squeeze harder, my little pet.” 

Fenris groaned. His insides burnt with a sharp, splitting pain, and his entire body felt weak from the sensations. He was certain that he would have passed out if not for the lyrium markings that now flared up with a bright electric blue. 

He squeezed tightly, tensing all the muscles in his body, and prayed that the mage would be done having his fun any moment. Not a single moment of respite was given him, as the mage continued to summon, using Fenris' blood, more of that infernal creature from the Fade – using the elf's body as conduit.

Why Danarius' body was immune to the damage, Fenris did not know. It likely had to do with the enchantments that the magister wore. 

Which made sense, really, considering that Danarius' main enemies were other magisters...

“Ahh... Master... Danarius...” He had no more strength in him. He could only call out in hopes that his submission pleased the Magister.

“Good boy.” Danarius sank his teeth into the elf's nape. “Aren't these amazing sensations? I wonder if it will be any different with your horny little Ferelden... Perhaps you can play with him like this.”

The thought of sticking his cock into a slime-filled, tentacle-ripped arsehole disgusted Fenris. His throat quivered as he tried to hold his gag reflex in – the tentacles that now wriggled on his insides, filling him and bloating his stomach up with a vile liquid... He looked down, and saw that he almost looked pregnant in that state, stretched and violated with the foulest magic.

But, as long as it made his master happy, Fenris would have to go along with it. There was no choice. “Thank you, Master... I... Nnngh...”

“You are my perfect little beast.” The mage said, biting the tip of Fenris' ear as the reality of him being speared on Danarius' cock while a partially summoned demon writhed in and out of him seemed to get farther and farther away, like a dream. 

Fenris' stomach churned as the tentacles prodded him from the inside, creating an abominable bulge from within. As a dark, noxious slime leaked out of his arsehole, the elf felt like a thousand needles were pricking him from the inside.

It was real, or Fenris would have woken up. That much he knew. 

“Ahh!! Master...!” He arched his back, muscles spasming in pain again and again. It must have felt great for the Magister, who pumped his hot load inside of him – dismissing the tentacle demon only after he was satisfied.

Danarius seemed quite pleased at his handiwork. The elf was dripping with cum and a black, viscous fluid from his nether regions, while the rest of him glistened. His stomach must have been pumped full of the demon's fluid, because it was still bloated. He fed him health poultice once more. Fenris' wounds healed even as he flopped onto the magister's chest like a used condom, semen and goo sloshing inside him, making him dizzy and weak. “Mmm. Such a slutty little elf you are. Since you've been so good, I'll let you lie with me after we're done.”

Fenris breathed as delicately as he could, resting his forehead against the Magister's robed chest to try and hide his pained expression. It hurt so much, being fucked so thoroughly – he wanted vomit. Instead, he said, as meekly as he could, “Thank you, Master. Should... I prepare Anders for this?”

“Hmm... Just bring him over next time. We will outfit him with a Saarebas collar. But it is best if you can get him to cooperate with you in the arena.”

“I will.“

“Good.”

There must be something coming up to warrant match-fixing, Fenris thought giddily. He passed out on Danarius' body, as the mage stroked him like an indulgent pet owner.

  
  



	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders does the thing. 
> 
> Warning for enemas in this chapter.

 7.

 

When Fenris came back to his mansion, Anders appeared to be perfectly behaved. There had been no tomes in the elf's bedroom earlier in the day, given that not only slaves were not taught to read – they were also actively discouraged from learning. The gladiator-warrior was a bit of an exception. 

He could afford to send his own slaves on errands, and this he did; so that by the next day, there were tomes here and there. The mage seemed to be reading and writing in both Tevene and Common.

The mage appeared to be in a much better mood then, though he was still chained, and could not leave the room. There was food on the shelves, books, little trinkets to play with, and a lute, all of which were piled near the desk, at which Anders sat.

The elf growled, and slumped face-down onto his bed as soon as he came in. He would have demanded some sort of welcome were he not in such a horrible state.

Anders set his quill down and came to take a look. “You smell like demons.” 

“I do not owe you an explanation, mage.”

“...You look pregnant.” 

“No amount of demonology is going to make me shoot babies out of my arse. So stop worrying.” Fenris retorted. At least, the mage's eyes looked worried – were Fenris in a better mood, he would have assumed that the mage simply was mocking him. He had no energy to be angry, so he simply let it slide.

“Are you hurt?” Anders did not seem to wish to get closer to the elf, but he still babbled like a fool. “Take off the collar so that I can dispel this... Thing. It's... Not precisely demonic posession... Who did this to you?”

“...It was part of Master Danarius' sex play.” Fenris got up, stomach churning as he did so. 

He primed the collar and unlocked it easily, wondering if he should inform the mage that the both of them would eventually be expected to endure such a thing for the Magister's twisted entertainment. Instead, he felt annoyed that Anders, who had been so utterly morose merely days before, was now happily adapted to the equivalent of solitary confinement within Fenris' room. It must have been the fact that he was allowed to study... Fenris felt a pang of jealousy.

“Any funny movement, and your heart will be mine.”

The mage rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Fine. No healing for you. Put the collar back on if that's what you want.”

“...” Fenris let out a feral growl as he slid out of his pants. The mage was impossible. “You will heal me.”

Anders looked at him with disdain, but, regardless, examined him. “...Something's inside your guts.”

“Obviously.” Fenris mumbled, unstrapping his armour so that the mage could help him get out of his leggings.

The mage's nose wrinkled as he saw the thick black liquid, mixed with dollops of cum oozing out from the elf's innards. “--Danarius did this to you?”

“ _Master_ Danarius,” He growled, still feeling weak all over. “Are you going to heal me, or not?! I have... A lot of things to do...”

“Oh, I don't know, I should heal you up so that you can go do whatever it is that wild beasts do in their spare time? Maybe some arson and murder to go along with assault and battery?”

“Shut. Up.” 

“Fine, fine!” The mage fetched his magnifying glass, the one that he'd been using to read. He explained to the elf in as professional a manner as he could, “...Seems like there are anal lacerations... And internal burns from... whatever this is. If we don't get this out and then heal it up, it could get infected.”

That explained why Fenris always felt like dying after Danarius did that to him. He would burn up after a couple of days, feeling feverish. But he would not die, for whatever reason, so he simply suffered in silence. The Magister would then return to a sick elf and get him some healing... Even though he must have known that this would happen. It probably was meant to ensure that his favourite “pet” would neither sleep around nor run away while he wasn't there. “...Tch.”

Anders stroked his chin. A slight fuzzy scruff was already growing along his jaw, making him look older and manlier than he was. “We'll just drain this if we can get you to a tub. Or I can go fetch a bucket, since you're in no state to move.”

Fenris kept the anti-magic collar strapped to his belt, got up, wrapped a towel around his hips, and unfastened the chain that kept the mage confined within his room. With one hand covering his mouth in case he managed to vomit some of this foul liquid up, he walked gingerly alongside the mage, who still quivered in fear whenever they got too close to each other. “I'm going with you.”

The blonde looked positively resentful.

The elf's upper lip curled in disgust at just how nonchalent the mage seemed about his suffering, and how all that was simply a ruse to get unchained and run away.

_Mages can't be trusted. Especially not this one. Ran away from the Circle... He'll definitely run away from here given the chance._

He would have to think about Danarius' request later. Short of chaining the mage to one of Danarius' bodygaurds, Fenris was unsure as to how to get him to cooperate on his own accord. At least he was a human; humans were allowed into the audiences of the Gladiatorial arena, even slaves. Elves weren't, and they made up the majority of the contestants.

The mage heat the water up with magic after pouring it into the tub. 

“If I'm going to run away, it would be really easy to do so,” Anders mentioned casually, as if sensing what the elf was thinking. “...But I have nowhere to run to, and the Templars will only catch me even if I leave this place. That Danarius... Seems really powerful, is he not?”

Fenris gritted his teeth and let the human help him into the tub. The water soothed his aching body, if nothing else. “Tch. Thinking of becoming an apprentice?”

“Some elfroot would help. I can make you a couple of salves, if you'd let me have more freedom.” Anders commented, ignoring the elf's accusations.

“...I will bring get you some supplies.” It was all Fenris could do to promise the mage. 

“I want to feel alive again.” The mage continued, “Not just some living, breathing … thing. Please. I think I deserve something in return for healing you.”

“Why are you asking me this?” Fenris growled. “Didn't you call me a wild beast? Are you seriously so stupid as to try and reason with one?”

The blonde looked at him with pity for a moment; it made the elf much more uncomfortable. He tried to get up, but gentle human hands gripped his upper arm and guided him back down into the tub. “Perhaps you and I have more in common than you think.” 

“Pfah.” He could see a certain purity in thoese clear, amber eyes, even as they seemed to look at him with something akin to... loathing. Good; he would rather be hated than be pitied. “You and I are nothing alike.”

“Ugh.” 

The warrior growled, getting ready to jerk the mage's chain towards himself should there be any suspicious movement. Instead, a light bluish glow surrounded the mage. It was a healing aura; warm and soothing... As much as he hated magic, he could close his eyes and drift off to sleep. He struggled to stay awake, certain that the mage had something up his sleeve. 

“Look. I will heal you.” The mage covered his mouth, and his voice cracked. “I will do _anything_. Just... Give me some basic freedom. Let me go out. _Please._ ” 

“Do not ask for the impossible.”

Anders looked disappointed, but he simply sighed, resting his hands on Fenris' bloated stomach. The elf wanted to swat it away violently, but the purifying spells that emanated from them soothed and alleviated his pain.

The water that Fenris now soaked in slowly turned black, as the viscuous liquid began to drain from within. 

He let the mage turn him around and pliantly lifted his hips, even though his lyrium-etched tunic was already sopping wet. Gentle, expert fingers put on some sort of grease, and began to slid into his arsehole, stretching him out so that all of the liquid could come out easily. He then administered an enema, so that by the end of this, the fluid that came out was clear, and had no smell.

By then, the elf's stomach had shrunk to a normal size, although he still felt bloated. 

He moaned, mostly out of relief. 

Anders helped Fenris out of the tub, drained it, and wiped him down before further scrubbing him free of the tainted, demonic fluid. 

“You'll have to watch your diet for the next few days,” He said. “We'll need something good and easy to digest for your gastrointestines, such as porridge. We'll have to check it again for infection, but this should mostly be fine.”

Accusing green eyes glared at him for a moment. “Mage.”

“...Sir.” 

“You're still not getting out of the house without the leash.” The elf bared his teeth, revealing the tiny elven fangs, as he pulled the mage close by the leather collar. He unbuckled the anti-magic collar and fastened it back onto the leather one, so that the human could not harm him even if he wished to. 

Anders shrugged. He truly did seem to revile Fenris – it made the elf feel like absolute, utter scum. “I know that.”

“You expect me to believe that you've done so out of the purity and kindness of your heart?” Fenris hated feeling this way. He removed his tunic and belt, and began to wash himself as well. 

Anders had moved as far away from the elf as he could, undressing and pouring water on himself to get rid of the demonic ichor that had gotten its smell onto him. “Oh, don't get me wrong, I won't be too torn up if you just keeled over and died, but then I'd have to serve _your_ master instead, and I generally don't appreciate having demonic scum pumped into my guts.”

 _Of course. Self-interest, as expected of their kind._ Fenris didn't feel so bad about having previously abused the mage any longer.

Even when viewed indirectly from beneath his fringes, Anders seemed... beautiful. Pity that the allure was wasted on a foolish mind. Humans were just the right height for Fenris... And there was a certain girth to them, a certain roundness of features, that made them seem _exotic_. “Mage.”

“What?”

“You've just... violated my ass without permission. In case we aren't clear: this is not what a slave should be doing to their Master.”

“But... That was medicinal.” Anders protested. “Enemas are what we--”

Fenris' eyes gleamed even as he kept his expression neutral, pleased to have regained the upper hand. 

“Andraste's knickers, you're impossible!” 

  
  



	8. 8.

Judging from how quickly the sun begun to rise, Fenris was certain that he had spent more than a day at Danarius' place. Anders performed his checkup only once more after that incident, and concluded that he ought to be fine, so long as he kept the pressure off his arse.

Considering that it hurt to walk and sit, Fenris was not entirely opposed to the idea. He had spent the entire day propped up on his front, with his servants serving him food in bed while Anders studied at his desk. The sun had already begun to set, and Fenris felt like he was starting to lose his mind. He would get up, pace around a bit, only to curl back up in pain and flop back onto the bed. 

He'd slept most of the day away, and the coolness of the night made him wish that he could practice with his sword.

It was boring. 

“You speak Tevene well for a Ferelden.”

“I'm from the Anderfels,” Anders replied. “We pick that sort of thing up because of our neighbours.” 

“Hmph.” Fenris' eyes were closing but there were too many bloody candles lit in the room for him to be able to sleep. He rubbed and tweaked his own ears out of sheer frustration. “ _Mage_.”

“What?” 

The elf looked at him in with a sour expression on his face. “Why are you so insistent on not using blood magic?”

“So, they _all_ use blood magic?” 

The way Anders looked so resolute made Fenris wonder if he truly meant it, or was just really good at acting. “Only if they don't want to end up in chains like you.”

“ _Oh_.” 

“Oh, indeed.” Fenris could feel his head throbbing as he closed his eyes. The scratching of quill against parchment was irritating him way too much; he just wanted some peace and quiet. “What are you writing?”

“Uh... Nothing.” The mage turned quite red, as he shuffled his papers around.

The warrior growled, getting up from his bed and heading towards the desk. “You are a very bad liar.”

“Hey!” The blond tried to restrain him, but was no match without his magic. 

Fenris easily retrieved the parchment and flipped through them, even though he couldn't read it. “Tch. What is this?”

“Er...” Anders twiddled his fingers. “Notes. On Tevinter law. Some alchemy stuff. Magic. It's esoteric.”

The elf pointed at drawings of a tiger with a mage sitting on its back, shooting fireballs and lightning bolts at templars. He narrowed his eyes, pointing at a depiction of said tiger chewing on the elf with crosses for eyes. “I take it that this is supposed to be me.”

“Too buff? I can make you look prettier, if that's your concern.”

Fenris tore that parchment up and rattled the mage's collar. “I'm not going to order more supplies if you insist on wasting them.”

“What did you expect?” Anders replied, throwing both hands up. He seemed to have forgotten about just how afraid he had been of the elf's violent outbursts. “You don't let me go out. I don't even get to jerk off without your permission! What's the point of all this?”

Fenris snorted. “Go ahead and jerk off, little mage-whore.”

The human let out a tiny strangled “arrrrgh”. 

“Blow out the damn candles so that I can fucking go to sleep.” He rubbed his eyes, plopped onto his bed, and rolled over onto his stomach. He stretched, wiggling his toes and hands, then kicked his leggings off to the foot of his bed. He made some grumbling noises as the candle light continued to shine, and looked back up. 

The flickering warmth of the light made the mage's face look almost angelic.

“Venhedis... What are you looking at?”

Anders turned away.

This was driving Fenris insane. “Come here.” 

“Why should I?” The mage replied, hurriedly crossing his legs and letting his tunic cover his hardon. 

The elf pulled at the leash, until Anders landed in his bed. The two of them glared at each other, and Fenris smirked as he affirmed that the human had been checking out his arse.

“Bastard,” Anders mumbled, “Keep your hands off me.”

“If you show that attitude to Master Danarius... Bah. It's your own funeral.” Fenris replied, pressing the mage down with his body weight. 

“There are some things that are worse than death.”

“So, you wish to die? If it were up to me, I'd grant you your wish.” 

“Healing ingrates are simply some of the best things I've ever done in my life.”

“You don't deserve gratitude for simply performing your duty.” The elf retorted, resting his chin on the mage's shoulder. He could feel Anders' warm heartbeat beneath.

Anders' breath hitched when Fenris' thigh rubbed against his cock. He struggled to get away hysterically, but the elf held him down until there was a faraway look in his eyes and the rest of his body went limp.

The warrior didn't go any further. He simply lay there, taking in the mage's scent. Humans had a perfect, musky smell – and this mage, in particular, smelt like herbs. It was as if he took care to scrub every inch of his body so that it would be free of dirt, whereas Fenris simply did not bother quite as much when he did not have to service Danarius.

“You're afraid of me.” It was a statement, not an inquiry.

“You don't say.” 

Fenris did not care. Of _course_ the mage was afraid. That was the entire point. “It wouldn't do if you acted like this in front of Danarius. Just... Get used to it.” 

“That's my own problem, don't you think?”

“You think you know everything.” 

“I don't need to know everything to know what you did was wrong.”

“Kvetch...” Fenris wanted to slap the mage. Were he in a worse mood, he would have done exactly that. The elf was simply too tired to get angry at just how stubborn this Anders was being. He rocked his hips gently against the mage's clothed bulge, wondering if that was how Danarius felt when he'd allowed the elf to spend some time by his side. It was... not entirely unpleasant. To have another's warmth so close at hand... 

And, if nothing else, the healer did deserve some reward for being compliant that day. 

Anders' breath grew deeper. He let out a soft moan as Fenris continued to grind against him with neither purpose nor passion.

The mage had a nice voice when he wasn't spouting rubbish. 

“I'm bored, mage. Tell me about your past.”

“What?!”

“Don't you have a past?” Fenris said, mildly irritated at just how the mage seemed to be questioning every order of his. Danarius never asked him that, but he didn't exactly have one to speak of, either. All his life, he'd only known the Magister. “How did you get from the Anderfels to Ferelden?”

“A wizard did it,” the mage replied sarcastically.

“Very funny. You escaped _seven_ times. Either you were terrible at escaping, or you were just doing it for fun. So, which was it?”

“I know, I know. Some of us prefer being kicked in the head to being woken up each morning. Me, I'm just so picky.” 

“You're a strange human.” The elf would never understand Anders. He prided himself on his loyalty, and could not understand just how somebody could simply leave their obligations, masters and friends behind. ...Not that Fenris had any friends. Where would they go? How would they survive?

“So, why don't _you_ escape?”

“Because I'm not a disloyal little whore.”

“Right. Not wanting to be abused makes one a little whore.” The mage replied. “As if there's anything wrong with being one in the first place.”

“...Disgusting.” Fenris muttered. “You would sell your body without regard for who your Master is?” 

“I find people who force themselves on others much more disgusting.” 

The elf growled and sank his teeth into the mage's neck, causing him to yelp in pain. Maker... How he hated this human, who had the audacity to pass judgment when he knew absolutely nothing. “I was being kind. Master Danarius would have had your head for daring to speak of rebellion so openly.” 

The mage couldn't reply. Fenris could feel the heat coming from beneath, where Anders' groin was – and thought about how this human was now his property, a pet like himself, only untrustworthy and stupid. Did Danarius feel the same way about him? Would he bleed Anders dry just to heal him up again, solely for his own pleasure, and not as punishment? 

Here was a mage, a human, for him to do as he liked.

...Well, not entirely. Danarius' instructions still had to be fulfilled.

He lifted the mage's tunic and raked at the mage's soft flesh with his nails, feeling the mage quiver below him. It pleased him to see the hatch-marks stretched over pale, tight skin, and for that moment, he was glad that the candles were still burning brightly. “You'd better get used to it. Master Danarius expects us to perform for his entertainment eventually.”

“I wanted to see the world outside,” Anders said, when Fenris' hands moved over his crotch. “That was all I ever wanted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really ought to write proper notes.  
> Much thanks and apologies to everybody who has commented/encouraged me/etc. It is always appreciated.


	9. 9

  
  


9.

“Tell me more,” Fenris whispered into the mage's ear, biting and sucking on his earlobe. 

Anders moaned, trying to wriggle out from beneath the warrior. “How am I supposed to concentrate when you're doing this?”

“You refused to talk about it when I told you to earlier.” The elf growled. “I can always mete out a punishment for you.”

“Wait! What do you want me to do?”

“Go on. Tell me more. Why did you want to see the world outside?” Fenris shrugged. “What is there to see?” 

Prior to becoming a gladiator, Danarius usually brought him along as his “pet”, and as his bodyguard. That meant that they would never be separated – something that Fenris thought would always be the case. He was loyal and loved his Master, since it was all that he knew. But the world outside... It was a _gift_ to him from Danarius, not something to be enjoyed as and when he liked.

He pressed his thumbs against Anders' nipples through the thin tunic that he was wearing. 

“Stop...” The mage whimpered. “I can't concentrate.”

Fenris frowned. He hadn't wanted to use much effort or energy to discipline the human that night, but this was ridiculous. He tugged the mage's pants off those thin hips, reached for the spare leather restraints near his bed, and tied those soft human ankles to the bedposts, such that the mage's legs were spread far apart. He then did the same to the mage's wrists, allowing for some give so that the mage could stretch and flex his muscles easily without getting free. “If you're going to run your mouth, you might as well look good while doing so, slut. Maybe I will consider letting you go when you stop disobeying orders.”

Anders swallowed, and glared incredulously at the elf.

“I will make it painful for you if you so wish.” The irritated warrior grabbed large phallic implement nearby and pressed it up against the mage's arsehole. 

“No!” The mage closed his eyes, and mustered all his courage before blurting out, “Butterflies... I would chase after butterflies. There weren't many of them, not in a place like the villages that I lived in. I came from a craftsman's family, and our village traded with the Dwarves.”

“Hm.” Fenris set the device aside, and rested his chin on his hands. 

The mage's eyes opened, looking down in disbelief at his own body, splayed out for the elf to see. “I was a farmer's boy. My father was a tall farmer. My mother... They always said that I resembled my mother. She sewed me a pillow, and I wouldn't let go of it because the smell of it calmed me down.” 

_A pillow. Huh._

“My father thought I ought to become a man, so he beat it into me. I ran. I ran from the village and got lost. I was afraid. The entire village came searching for me, and they found me.”

Fenris listened. There was something sincere about the mage's tone, desperate as it sounded. Still, he saw a pattern. The mage ran away from the village, then ran away from the Circle.

“...Father locked me up in a barn. It was dark... I panicked. The next thing I knew, it was burning. My mother braved the fire to rescue me from the barn, and...”

The mage's expression grew darker. The elf occupied himself by fiddling with those soft-ish human toes, but Anders seemed to pay him no mind.

“...Then I was told, suddenly, that I was a mark of the Maker's sin, that I was a curse to the family.”

Fenris snorted. Weak was weak. “You should have come to Tevinter.”

“I was a child.”

“Excuses.”

“You don't know what it was like.” The mage paused. He flexed his arms against his restraints. “The Templars came and dragged me off as soon as they heard that there was a mage in the village. My mother... She tried to hide me. They beat her and told her that she was a sinner who had given birth to a monster. It was my father who turned me in.”

“Hmph.” Fenris rolled his eyes. He had heard of worse stories – elven children who were born without parents, or with only a single parent, who then succumbed to diseases. They were often bullied, even by other elven children, who saw them as a target. Still, it was interesting to know that there were societies out there who did not regard magic as a mark of distinction. “They marched you off to Ferelden?”

“Not exactly.” Anders shuddered as the elf's fingers began to run along the insides of his thighs. “...Why are you doing this?”

The elf yawned. “You'd have to put up a better show than this for Master Danarius, mage.”

“I'm talking about my life here!”

“As per orders.” Fenris replied. He rubbed the tip of his ear alongside the mage's cock, mostly out of curiousity. “Huh... Interesting.”

The mage bit his lips angrily, even though his body was, again, responding to the elf's ministrations. “You...!”

Fenris looked at the angry blush in his slave's face. Anders really did look quite handsome; Danarius seemed to know him like the back of his hands. Still, even the Magister did not know of the mage's defiant attitude, or his self-important whining. “You think you're the only person who suffered.”

“...I poured my heart out to you at your request, just for you to dismiss my experiences.” 

Further proof that the mage did not know anything beyond his own navel. The warrior snorted in disgust. “You have family and memories. What more do you want?”

“Life, love, liberty?” Anders shot back.

“Don't make me laugh. All you're good for is your body, mage. Without the power that magic gives you, all you can do is wiggle like the little worm that you are and beg for my cock like a whore.” Fenris said, biting the mage's earlobes. Liberty... What did it mean? It meant nothing to somebody who had no memories, no family... Nothing to his name but whatever his Master allowed him to have. Compared to him, the mage was lucky.

_So very lucky._

At least he had his memories... 

He was loved.

He owned a pillow that his mother made him.

Somebody wept for him when he was gone.

...And he'd seen the horizon as he ran across the plains after a butterfly. It was as if all of the world existed solely for the mage – nobody deserved that. Certainly not Anders, who had magic and could have become a magister in Tevinter.

None of these were luxuries that had been accorded Fenris, who did not remember anything before the ritual. Not that it mattered; all he needed was Master Danarius' approval and affection. Even if it hurt, he had attained this much.

He did not have time to develop an attachment to anything, or anybody else. If he'd expressed a liking for anything, it would be taken away from him. This was how he had come to earn what he now had; it wasn't because he wanted these things. It was because Danarius wanted him to have them. 

And he wanted them because they were all he had. Signs that his Master... appreciated him.

“Ah...” He loved the way the human's moans sounded in his ears. He wasn't in a violent mood, but there was something compelling about Anders, that made him want to touch him all over just to see him writhe. And he did exactly that. 

“Good. I like hearing that.” It was like playing a lute, except with the mage's body. Fascinating. 

“Hnngh...” Ander's voice really was like music, changing in pitch and intensity as he pinched, tickled, and scratched different parts of his body. 

For instance... The flanks of the mage was sensitive and soft; it elicited a higher tone. A lower, more gutteral moan was made when he played with both of the mage's nipples at the same time with his tongue and fingers. His voice would hitch like a girl's when Fenris' fingers rubbed the tip of his cock and that slit easily grew wet with pre-cum, like some strange, clear sexual nectar.

That wanton voice seemed to trigger something in him. It was that _something_ that made him want to pound the mage deeper until he could no longer walk, until the both of them lay on top of each other, breathing in each other's scent while semi-conscious. (Was that how Danarius felt with him? He could only wish.)

“Mage...” Fenris rested his head on the human's chest for a while, waiting until he no longer was on the brink of orgasm, before getting back up and lifting the mage's hips so that he could go in hilt-deep.

He pounded the mage with whatever strength that he could muster, stopping every now and then to catch his breath and to regain his own strength. Whenever he stopped, Anders would look relieved, but the pained look would return to his face as Fenris' hips slapped against the mage's soft buttocks mercilessly.

Eventually, the elf emptied his hot load into the mage's loosened arse. 

Maker, he loved the sight of the mage's gaping arsehole as his cock slipped out of him, cum dripping down that smooth contour. 

Fenris smirked. He took his time to admire the mage's body, in every single bit of sordid detail. Light, reddish scratches, restraint burns, kiss marks... He did not hurt the mage this time.

“I hate you.” Anders said, softly. He lay sprawled against the headboard for a moment, before straightening his back. His body was a complete mess; cum dribbled from his cock in long, ropey spurts from the stimulation, and... His legs remained spread, even as he breathed in and out loudly while choking back sobs.

The warrior snorted in disdain.

Anders slid down lower onto the soft downy sheets on Fenris' bed and covered his face in his arms, thighs still parted as if he'd forgotten about his lower body.

The elf threw his legs over the edge of the bed and rested his face in his hands, ignoring the pain in his own barely recovered body. Despite having just achieved satisfaction, there was a churning void within his guts... And all he could do was lie back down, against the mage, who flinched against his touch.

It was not the right thing, but it was natural and necessary. This was what the entire world was like. The strong should do as they liked with the weak.

It was just as well that the spoilt mage hated him, because he would do the same were their positions switched. He would come to love him, and adore him as Fenris did with his Master. 

Even if he didn't, who cares? 

Fenris was not Danarius; he simply did not have the ability to use magic, to control the mage's every heartbeat. That did not mean that he shouldn't try.

In contrast, the mage would become like Danarius if their positions were switched.

Fenris knew that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to come up with a title for this arc so that I don't end up with ten billion chapters in one humongous fic. (Does this count as porn with plot? There'll probably be less porn down the road, but I'm sure I can slip some salami into the cold cuts.)


	10. 10

 

Anders spent the next day recuperating; he refused to say anything as he lay there with a dazed expression on his face. Fenris, on the other hand, was already feeling much better and was in top condition to practise.

The mage no longer bothered to talk except when talked to, and even then he only brought up impersonal things. When it came to personal comments, he made one or two word replies, and even then seemed to finally consider what the elf wanted to hear. It was going as planned; Fenris was pleased at his progress.

The week passed in a sex-induced haze. Anders seemed to have given up all of his ridiculous notions about “freedom”. There was an empty feeling in Fenris' gut, but he knew that it was for the better. The mage wouldn't have survived otherwise, and... He was justified in doing so.

When Fenris got back from his training, the mage was always writing and drawing. He'd even lifted his arse and smiled wantonly at the elf, who proceeded to use him without question.

“...May I have a map?” Anders asked. “Please. I know all about Tevinter law, but I do not know anything about the place that I live in.”

The elf considered it, and he agreed. The human had been satisfactory as a personal slave, even though his duties were sparse. Even slavedrivers knew that there was a need to let their property recuperate so that they would be worth more in the longer run. Fenris was sure that if he had done anything to jeopardise this, Danarius would not hesitate to take it away from him.

News reached Fenris, secluded as he tried to be. The rebels that he had helped Danarius defeat were still active in parts of the region, though they were dwindling in numbers. The elf pinned the map onto their wall, such that both of them could look at it. There was a map of Minrathous right down to its minor streets, as well as the whole of Tevinter. 

The mage healed on demand, without asking for anything in return. He was awarded better clothes now that he behaved, and was even brought out to the streets a few times to help with regaining his strength.

Even though news got around with a recluse like Fenris, he still learnt a lot from the mage. Anders could go to places where Fenris could not, even if it was as simple as waiting right on a line while holding onto the mage's leash.

The minor magisters and other mages looked at him both with disdain and with new-found respect. It was the finest form of disgust mixed with disapproval, and Fenris only wished that they could all live in fear of him. Still, as an elf, he had less rights than the mage did, and what differentiated them was their status as property.

For the moment, Fenris felt as if he truly had become a master, and that Danarius was but a faraway dream. With a mage's leash in his hands, with those lustrous amber eyes looking for opportunities to please him... He was in heaven.

He'd wanted to bring Anders to the arena, but since he couldn't stay with the human, he didn't do so. 

Either way, Danarius would probably take care of those arrangements. Fenris did not have any friends, and he had nobody to appeal to for help. He got the mage a map of the localities, and of Tevinter, and watched as notes were written, and drawings were made. 

Fenris fought in the arena as always, without having Danarius visit him afterwards. It was liberating. He felt like his own man, not a slave.

If only he could read, he would be better able to discern what was going on with Anders. Instead, he spent whatever resources he had on his favourite pet, the way Danarius lavished luxury and attention on him once upon a time. Books. Tomes and cheap scrolls which the mage could tear through through the night, mostly in Tevene, sometimes in common. 

He liked to think that he had succeeded in keeping the mage in the dark about his own reading abilities, but the fact was that the mage was not stupid, and he gave up vetting the human's notes after deciding that it was simply a waste of time that could be better used to do other things.

Perhaps, in his own way, he'd come to love the mage, in the likeness of the Magister and his “Little Wolf”.

This love could only be shown in terms of power; with how much the other pleased him in bed, and with the tacit understanding that anytime the slave displeased the master, they would be taught a harsh lesson.

Even if they weren't displeased, the slave could still be hurt for the amusement of the master. Fenris was not Danarius, and had little to gain from hurting Anders. Still, he wanted the human to understand that. If he were to become more valuable, that was what Danarius would have wanted of him. It was only right.

To prove it to the human, Fenris taught him how Danarius would cut along the soft flank of his shoulder. Or down the wrist.

Anders, to his surprise, never once resorted to blood magic even with blood pooling into the bucket and Fenris removed his anti-magic collar to let him heal. 

“Do you not attract demons or something?” The elf wondered.

The mage simply gritted his teeth and shook his head, eyes glazed over in pain, lips pale from the blood loss. 

The warrior wondered just how, exactly, Anders could have resisted the urge. If it was Fenris, he would have gladly done so, just to regain some semblence of dignity over his own life. Perhaps he would even be apprenticed to Danarius, and he would have been able to fashion Anders after his own desires.

Since he could not, all he could do was let his servants water the plants in his backyard with Anders' blood, diluted with water. Life mixed with life. 

The duller those eyes got, the more Fenris wanted to see a spark of life in them, and it seemed that the beautiful irony did not escape the mage.

That probably _was_ love, and it was as good as it got. 

It flourished the way the flowers did in the yard, gruesome and delicate. Anders seemed to enjoy looking at the plants, sometimes the sky. When it rained, the mage would stand by the window and watch it. It made him seem so lonely, so melancholic, especially when viewed from the side. Still, he somehow had a bit of unbroken dignity to him – the way he carried himself, the way his nose was turned up as he looked upwards, the way his eyes betrayed his hatred, resignation, concentration, and passion.

Fenris thought that he was beautiful this way, too.

“I love you.” He mumured, once, as he was falling asleep.

The mage shuddered in his arms, and his voice was as sweet as ever, tinged with the coated sugariness of a body slave having learnt their manners. “Thank you, sir.”

Fenris would never admit that to anybody else. 

If he let Danarius know just how much he had taken to the mage, to let him share a bed every night, he was certain that his Master would take it away from him. Still, Anders would probably gain nothing from having his movement restricted further by Danarius – unless he planned to become apprenticed to the Magister.

To that end, the elf always made sure that the mage came before he did, sometimes multiple times. Danarius did not like it if his subjects enjoyed whatever he was doing to them openly. Fenris, however, noticed that the mage was more submissive when he had orgasmed, and more likely to snuggle closer when they were done. It gave him a satisfaction to know that he was having an impact on his own pet.

It was a simple matter of behavioural conditioning; the elf had heard of it being used by other magisters while he was working as Danarius' bodyguard. 

Apparently, such simple methods could be used to generate personal loyalty amongst one's personal subjects, though it was only used when the master actually cared about their slave.

Those were days when he had learnt the most from being by his Master's side... But he was certain that if he lost all that he had now, he would never be able to return to those days. Besides, it was nice being able to make his own decisions, however limited they were.

Still, those weeks were unreal. Fenris knew that this was nothing but a dream, one that would end when Master Danarius returned. It was only the way of the world. Freedom: This was as good as it got in Tevinter, when one was not blessed with magic.


	11. 11

Fenris presented Anders, back straight and on his knees. He seemed nervous, but the elf had reminded him again and again that Danarius was not to be trifiled with. Both Fenris and himself would get into trouble if the mage messed up.

“You did not have a scratch on you even with the matches.” The Magister said. “This must be the work of your new acquisition. Splendid.”

Fenris nodded obediently, looking up once and then back down again. “The one that we call Anders has proven useful, Master Danarius.”

“Hmmm. Do we still require a Qunari collar for this slave?” 

Anders looked up in fear, and Fenris immediately kicked him. The mage did not even let out a sound as he endured the blows. 

“Well done. I see that you have successfully tamed your personal slave.” Danarius smirked. “Come here, Fenris. It has been a while since I have last seen you.”

The elf walked over to Danarius and got on both knees. The Magister put his palm on the back of Fenris' neck, stroking it once, twice. 

“There are more business in the region that has to be taken care of.” The magister said, “As such, matters of the Arena will have to be delayed. You will still be my Champion, Fenris. Do not let me down.”

“Yes, Master.”

“While we're here, we will need to strengthen our ties with the Imperial Chantry, and our political alliances.” The mage continued, “It shall be your duty to do so. It will be just like the good old days.”

Fenris' ear twitched, as he nodded curtly. “My pleasure, Master.”

Anders shifted on his knees, both hands tethered behind his back along with his anti-magic collar. The elf had taught him not to act out of place, but never for such long periods. Danarius' eyes roamed over the blond, his cold grey eyes dispassionate and calculative. 

“They will be here in a while. You two shall get dressed for the occasion.” The Magister snapped his fingers, and a servant appeared behind Fenris. “Follow him. You too, Anders.”

Anders looked up at the corridors, at the thick walls and heavy doors. The sound of them moving through the large rooms seemed to echo and dissipate into nothingness due to the scale of the place. 

The elven servant gestured for the two of them to take a bath within a servant's quarters. This, they did so without much delay.

Anders tried to catch Fenris' gaze, and that he did. Though the elf no longer bothered to chain the mage to himself, the movement of his hands were still limited by how they were chained behind his back, and Fenris let the servant bathe him. 

“Sir.”

“Mage.”

“What will we be doing?”

“We will likely be serving the magisters and the Knight Commander.” Fenris replied softly, scrubbing himself with soap. 

The mage's eyes widened. Fenris pressed his palm against Anders' nape, the way Danarius did. 

“It is an honour to serve them.” He said dryly, trying not to reveal any emotions. The way Anders looked made him wonder if this was truly the natural order of things. Just what world did he live in, where this was considered an abomination? He rubbed the mage's nape gently, hoping to soothe that trembling body. “Simply do as you have done for me.”

“...Yes, sir.” Anders replied. He took in deep breaths, but still could not shake his fear.

“Master Danarius has instructed that the love draft will be used.” The servant said. 

Fenris nodded in approval. That should make things easier. Even if Anders wanted to resist, there was no way that he could do anything once the draft was consumed. The Magisters would simply take him into the room, perhaps a few at a time... He could scream, and he could shout, but in the end he would emerge in one piece. Danarius had a rule that his most prized posessions should not be hurt permanently, which meant that plenty of health potions would be available.

Unless the other magisters were intent on declaring war on Danarius. The magister was a spiteful sort, and it would be a sure-fire way of instigating in-fighting.

The elf tried not to think about it. It hadn't happened to him personally, but he had heard of such happenings.

 _His_ Anders, being violated... Was that Danarius' plan? To make him jealous? To prove his loyalty?

It could not be helped. If that was what Danarius wanted, that was what Danarius would get. That was the way of things.

“Kindly put these on before you get into the cage,” said the servant politely.

Thigh-high laces with garter belts woven from soft, fragile silk threads. Decorative waist cinchers which would have served absolutely no purpose except for aesthetic reasons. A neck corset for Fenris, who did not wear a collar. Nipple chains and blindfolds. Fenris' colours were silver; Anders' were gold. Even if these decorations were not ripped by the end of the night, Fenris was certain that the mixture of cum, blood and possibly demonic ichor would have caused these to be completely unusable.

“We will slip these on when the time is right.” Fenris stated flatly. 

“Noted.” The servant took the nipple chains and blindfolds and set them aside on a silver tray.

Fenris would never have bothered to get such an extravagant waste, but Danarius was somebody who liked to flaunt his status. It would not be surprising if, by the time the guests reached them, the guests were all inebriated. 

Still, the delicacy of those needle-point laces, made of fine silken threads, shone quite flatteringly on Anders' pale skin. He tried not to show his own desires as the human looked at him as if asking for help. 

He shut his eyes so that those probing honey-brown ones could not get to him. 

“Don't look at me like that,” he growled. _I can't protect you._

That was what he had been trying to prepare Anders for, and yet the human did not seem to understand when things came down to it. Either that, or he bore some futile, misguided hopes. 

It was not as if the human was given a pamphlet that illustrated, “abandon all hope, ye who enter Tevinter”, but Fenris thought that it would be obvious enough. A weakling like that was would simply be used this way, if not by him, then by Danarius. 

And, if nothing else, they would be useful for their body parts, or their blood. Fenris had heard of magisters that amputated the limbs of slaves for no reason other than for their own sick amusement, but usually those magisters did not last very long before some assassination took place. Even Danarius had nothing comparable to that sort of cruelty, if only because his favourite torture subjects did not have a single scar to show for it, and all of them were loyal to him in the first place. The ones that were outright murdered often were the ones with no known living relatives. 

It was to the mage's benefit that Fenris was a jealous sort, or he would have done the same thing. 

The mage was completely flaccid, and shrunken in the cold. Fenris released the mage's chains, but not his collar. While he enjoyed the sight of his beloved pet in such well-crafted gear, the sense of apprehension was killing him. 

It did not take long before another servant came in with a couple of guards.

“It's time,” said the servant. “Please get ready.”

Fenris put on his own nipple chains and held on to his blindfolds. Anders had the assistance of the other servant, and the two of them got into the large, human-sized cage. 

“What will they do to us?” Anders whispered. 

“I... do not know. Do not worry; the guards are here to keep order.” Lyrium-etched hands moved to cover those pale human ones for a moment, and, to Fenris' surprise, the mage responded by gripping it tightly. Exposed as they were, within that cage, awaiting the guests – the two of them only had each other. They watched in apprehension as implements were brought in almost like a procession; there were sex toys of every shape and size; right down to those that were so large, they would have hurt. But oh, there were also health potions, salves and balms; plenty of them.

Anders looked at him in horror. For a moment, the elf almost felt pity – but then, the love drafts came, and they drank it. It tasted mildly of lye, but mostly of a sweet fruit.

The servants helped them with the blindfolds, through the bars of the cage. When they were done, all was shrouded in darkness.

“Tonight, I shall show you what an exquisite slave my own Champion has acquired...” Danarius' voice could be heard as the door was thrown open. “A Ferelden mage. And, as a gesture of goodwill, I've included our favourite gladiator-- especially for those of you who have expressed an interest.”

“Well, well. This will certainly make up for all the money that I have lost to you, old boy.” Said a magister. Fenris thought he recognized that voice; it was one of Danarius' clique, just as powerful as his own master, if not more. That meant that this was an important event among a tight-knitted group of magisters. “I must say, I am no longer jealous of the Knight-Commander's _special_ companion.”

“What did I tell you? Only the best entertainment for my old friends.” Danarius clapped his hands. 

Fenris could hear a muffled scream and heavy breathing coming from the other end of the room. He smelt blood, and demonic taint. The sounds were drowned out by the laughter and the clapping – he counted about four or five magisters. There were probably personal guards, too.

“Oh, they are turning out quite well. What is this Ferelden dog's name? Anders? Huh... A human, and a mage at that.” 

“Yes. We acquired him from a go-between from the Free Marches. Says he's a good slut, trained by the Ferelden templars. Goes to show that those spellbinds who keep mages down only weaken their own army by preventing perfectly good mages from using their powers to serve man.”

“...My. He's quite coquettish for a man. I know that there are some who would not mind getting him on his knees and doing him from behind like a good Dog-land wench.”

The moan that sounded was Anders'. Danarius' love potion was having its effect; he could feel the warmth of Anders' skin pressing against his own. 

“My, he's even stroking himself openly. How undisciplined. Oh, look. He loves having his nipples played with.”

“No...” Anders protested. 

“Mmm. Skinny little bitch.” 

“Ah...!”

There was the sound of fabric ripping, already.


	12. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Tentacle Sex. Demon sex. Bestiality. Non-con. Of course you knew that, didn't you?

“Use them as you like, my friends. They are here specially for you.”

Fenris, on the other hand, stayed as still as he could. His cock was already throbbing – he could feel somebody slip a cockring on, and there were tugs at his nipple chains more than once. The sound that came out from his throat was absolutely humiliating – but so was Anders'.

The elf gripped the bars tightly, until somebody pulled him onto his knees and forced him to lick a ridged dildo, stuffing it into his mouth until its flared base reached his lips. Fenris lost his composure and began to rut against the mage as somebody stuck their lubed fingers into his arse. There were so many hands... So many fingers... So many toys to play with, while he was going into heat like an animal.

“You've always had the best drafts for these sluts of yours, Danarius.”

“No! It hurts... Mmmhh!”

“He's licking this toy like a greedy little bitch. Ha!”

“Should we get a real dog to breed this little Ferelden? Look at the way his hips are moving on their own!”

Fenris' cheeks were flushed with humiliation and lust, but he could not help it. His entire body felt as if it was on fire. Every single touch made him flinch; every single piece of phallus that reached him was fondled by his greedy fingertips.

The mage's moans were as needy as his own. It was just as embarrassing to know that Anders heard him just as he had heard Anders', but in the haze of lust, Danarius' plans to put him in his place failed to instill anger inside him. All he could think of was cock and sex, and the eventual release that would come when they finally let him take off the cockring.

And the mage, right beside him... Blindfolded as he was, he could see the mage in his mind's eyes; that pale skin tinted pink from desire, probably hot to the touch – he felt their backsides bump against each other, and without much thought he began to rub against the mage greedily.

The human returned this gesture. It was a different sort of feeling from the way the mage usually touched him; it was passionate, wordless, and devoid of the usual skills that they both tried to employ on each other. This was sex, pure and simple, without any of the usual tricks.

“Hmm... I guess they can't keep their hands off each other even now.” Danarius commented. “Fenris... My little wolf, I know you like the back of my hand.”

Fenris murmured under his breath, even as he sought his own pet's warmth, “Master Danarius...”

Danarius' touch was unique. He could feel that palm on the back of his neck, the way that only his own master knew how. And he kept still, for a moment, before a real cock was stuffed into his mouth, leaving him breathless.

“Ohh... Such a good little slut... You like that taste, don't you?”

Fenris could barely breathe from the thick, musky scent. If he had not taken the aphrodiasiac, he would have found this repulsive. As it was, he simply sucked and licked greedily, using his mouth, lips, tongue and hands as if they were made for such purposes alone. From the sounds of it, Anders was doing the same, probably to another Magister.

Somebody said from behind him, “So... Danarius, are you going to show us that trick with partial summoning?”

It was Danarius' hands who ran down his spine, and then around the area where he was usually cut. “Later. Remember, brothers, there is only one request that I have of you. Keep them intact.”

“Hmm... The more I look at this Ferelden, the more I'm reminded of somebody I knew.” One of the Magsters said, “But he did not quite look so pitiful.”

“Really? That is a legitimate fetish in some circles.” Another magister laughed. “Those dog-lords owe their dogs to even us!”

“Quite so. Fitting that we should breed a Ferelden with a dog...”

The rest of the night was spent in a blur; it was not long before the smell of blood once again overtook the room; he could hear Anders scream aloud the first time, before choking back sobs.

Then, there was the sound of growling and barking... His own blindfold came down, and he could see that the mage was already led out of the cage, whereas he was still locked inside.

It was a dog that was now eliciting sobs from the mage. One of the strong Mabari breeds.

The Magisters were all wearing masked hoods, revealing only their eyes. Fenris would have recognized them from anywhere; he had served them wine long ago, as Danarius' personal servant and bodyguard.

Anders' eyes were glazed over from lust and pain. Whimpers escaped from the back of his throat, but a magister stuffed a dildo into his open mouth and held it in place.

Barking relentlessly, the beast did not seem to be worse from the wear; it was _his_ mage that was being ravaged, dog hips moving inhumanly fast against human ones.

Fenris watched with pathos as the mage's eyes seemed to roll over from more pain, even as he lifted his hips like a little whore.

They then forced him to drink the health potion. The way the red liquid dripped from the mage's lips made Fenris wish that he could kiss him.

“If you ask me, a mage's blood is worth more,” One of the Magisters said.

“Blood is blood. It's the mind that makes the mage,” Another Magister commented.

“That's not true. Danarius' little wolf has some of the best blood in Tevinter.”

“That's because of the fortune's worth of lyrium I've invested in him.” Danarius said, proudly. “By the way, only Fenris will be able to survive this, so don't use it on just any slave unless you want them to die.”

“We can't use this on the Ferelden bitch?”

“He's useful for things other than this.”

Fenris soon found himself being drained of blood. He had endured this before; he would endure this again and again... With nothing but soft panting and stifled grunts.

Ah. Blood. There was enough blood and demonic taint in the room. Whatever those Magisters did when he wasn't able to see, he did not want to know. He wondered if the mage had seen that.

Probably. Anders looked as if he had lost his mind. When the dog was done, it dismounted and lost interest in the mage.

“Lick this.” One of the magisters commanded Fenris.

He saw Anders press his arse against the cage as a Magister's hand guided his hips, and listened as the mage panted and moaned while the figure in a heavy tunic began to pound him hard and deep into his throat, while Fenris tasted the sloppy seconds of a dog leaking out from the mage's ravaged hole.

The elegance of Danarius' movements did not escape him as the robed figure casted the spell once again.

Fenris turned his head away and screamed in agony. The surrounding blood had attracted more than just a bit of a demon; it rose from beneath the cage and reached upwards like a tree sapling sprouting branches. Its larger, stronger tentacles were trapped and constricted inside the cage – with him in it – and the smaller tendrils now made their way into Anders' arse.

Even Danarius looked mildly taken aback by the unexpected summoning. He shrugged as if it was no big deal.

“Oh! Look at that poor sod.” A magister said with a laugh. “Won't he get ripped apart?”

“Just a little. Nothing that cannot be fixed by magic.”

The elf groaned as the thinner tendrils slipped around his body, wrapping him and violating his mouth and arsehole. It wrapped itself around him, blindly stuffing his and Anders' lower body with suction cups and slime-filled pumps.

It did not matter that Fenris was merely a spectacle at that point; because the unoccupied Magisters were busying themselves with a desire demon. Danarius simply sat in a corner and sipped his wine, until Anders passed out, either from pain or from the damage that the tendrils must have done to his innards.

“Healers. Now.”

The mage was carried away from the cage, leaving Fenris alone with the demon. Before long, Anders regained consciousness and was once again serving the Magisters, taking in two cocks at once in his slick, ichor-tainted arse.

Globs and globs of demonic spooge leaked everywhere; the tendrils even found a way to remove the cockring and milk him for all of his cum.

“Master!” Just then, an elven servant burst into the room. “Master – the Knight-Commander... The Knight-Commander is dead!”

“Under my charge? Impossible!” Danarius took his staff and gathered two of his personal bodyguards, leaving the others to stay where they were. The other magisters looked at each other, and hurriedly put their clothes back on.

“You surprise me, old boy.” A magister commented. “The Knight-Commander? Who would have thought?”

Danarius said nothing in response.

“You, help me put these clothes on. And you two--” Danarius said to the healers. He cut Anders up to power up a banishment spell – Fenris could barely believe that the mage was still alive after that. “Your job is to keep these two alive and intact. Understood?”

Fenris looked up at Danarius. The magister looked at him fondly before he left.

“Good night, sweet wolf.”

 


	13. 1x

1x. 

When the aphrodiasiac was cleansed, both him and Anders were made to squat by the chamberpots unglamorously. Fenris had the worst of it; he let the slime empty from his bloated belly while simultaneously retching into a bucket. When he was done, the healers soaked him in a tub and fussed over him. They fully cleansed his body of the copious amounts of slow-acting, non-lethal poisons which were corroding him from within.

 _His_ mage looked like he was on the brink of consciousness, too, lips pale, cheeks hollowed. The blush on that sweet, tender face had disappeared. He had no idea that he would miss it.

 _Maker..._ This was worse than anything he had seen. It was as if all of his work to tame and rehabilitate the mage was for nothing, because when he reached forward to cradle his possession, Anders simply slunk away, hunched and pathetic. 

A messenger came by and delivered a message, from Danarius. They were to rest in his servants' quarters and go to meet him the next day.

Fenris tugged wearily at the chain, waiting for the mage to respond. He had no energy to get angry or violent himself; he'd had the worst end of the bargain. Being stuffed thoroughly with demonic slime while pressed against the cage's bars did not do wonders for his internal organs.

Just then, the elf, with his weary, worn-out senses, caught the view of a shrouded figure who donned white. It slid a dagger into one of the healers, and then into the other. Without much ceremony, he hurriedly looted the two corpses, flipping them over to ascertain their identities.

It was an attempted assassination. 

Fenris would have activated his markings and grabbed the heart of the figure if he had any energy left in him. Anders simply looked at the shrouded figure, eyes suddenly filling with light slowly. 

The figure stopped, seeming to ponder whether they should be murdered. With a smoke bomb, it disappeared into the shadows once more, leaving no trace of where it was, just an open door. 

“Let's get our clothes.” Fenris rasped, “We need to get back to Master...”

The blond looked at him with watery eyes, pulling the elf into his arms and taking the latter by surprise. “I thought you were dead.”

“It's not usually this bad,” Fenris admitted. “Master Danarius must have made a mistake in his summons.”

_Was that pity?_

Fenris hated the way the mage looked at him. He did not need pity. What he needed was to be stronger. So strong that nobody could hurt him.

Fringe obscuring his eyes, the elf pulled at the human's chain. “Let us go.”

The murder of those two healers brought them to Danarius' quarters once again. Fenris assured the Magister that neither of them did it, and, to their relief, the old man believed them both. 

“Since you have performed so well tonight, you may sleep in this very room,” The Magister said, patting Fenris on his head like a Master. The elf only bowed his head in gratitude, and led his mage to the cage. Anders flinched at the sight of the cage once again, but did not protest too much as Fenris held his chain tightly. 

“Another thing. Wake up early tomorrow, Fenris. We will be going to Seheron.” 

“What will happen to the mage?” Fenris asked, head still lowered.

Anders, too, seemed surprised. He looked up curiously, while Fenris kept his gaze down. 

“He is your slave, is he not? He returns to your estate.” 

Fenris' head throbbed. He wondered if Danarius had any idea just how difficult it was to keep the mage in line, much less without his presence at the estate. Still, he presumed that the Magister must have had an emergency – one that did not include the mage. 

“Fog Warriors,” Fenris murmured under his breath. 

“Poison was found on the Knight Commander's body,” Danarius explained, “Simultaneously causing plenty of pain and yet causing the target to be unable to scream and cry for help. What do you think it may be?”

“Crow poison,” Fenris said. “Among other things.”

“Certainly. Yet, from the technique and the residue we found at the site, all signs could only point towards an assassination by the Fog Warriors of Seheron. They have been resisting Tevinter rule for so long now, choosing to reject the ways that Magic may be used to serve men by adopting on the blasphemous Qun.” The grey haired man said, “It is time that we put an end to their resistance once and for all.”

“I have heard news of unrest in the Imperium,” Anders whispered to Fenris, “We risk a war with the Qunari.”

“Smart one, isn't he?” Danarius seemed genuinely amused, if nothing else. “Anders, is it? Keep it up and you may have an estate of your own. You are a mage, are you not?”

Fenris frowned. 

“Fret not, Fenris. You shall be at my side for the expedition. Haven't you professed to missing my presence when I gave you yours?”

“Yes, Master.” The elf said, sincerely. “It is my honour.”

“And duty. As for you, Anders, we will return you to Fenris' estate.”

In the cushioned cage, the warrior lay with Anders to his side, their hands cuffed in a chain against each other's. 

The elf could see the his slave look at him worriedly, as if wondering if this was all a trap. Fenris did not say anything; all he could do was pat the mage's head gently, like an owner comforting its pet. He wanted to tell Anders what he was thinking of, but with Danarius in such proximity, he did not feel too comfortable saying anything at all. 

Either way, high-ranking assassinations did not usually happen at these parties. 

Without his magic, however, the mage could probably not escape easily – not from Tevinter, at any rate. And, if Anders was seen with his collar, he would likely run into danger easily.

Fenris knew that. He had no cause to worry. Anders, too, had probably come across these incidents enough to know that being a slave in Tevinter was no easy picnic. For a human slave, one could walk the streets freely and still have no rights to speak of. His servants would be taking care of the estate, leaving Anders free to pursue whatever he wanted to.

The mage should be happy at that, Fenris thought. Even so, he could not shake off the sense of impending abandonment.

And Danarius... Anders should be scared of the Magisters, or at the very least, behave so that he could become Danarius' apprentice. The idea that the mage could seek out a Magister in his absence and try to become apprenticed to one, dangerous as it was, chilled Fenris to his bones.

  
  



	14. 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Onwards to Seheron.

 

Seheron was a far-flung island near the edge of the Imperium, straddling cultures between Tal Vashoth and Tevinter. Despite being inhabited by humans, the _heretics_ were followers of the Qun and bore little love for mages. Magic in the Tevinter was used to serve man, or so it was said; the best religious theorists sang the praises further justifying the rule of the magisters. 

As the ship neared its destination, Fenris could not help but think of his favourite slave back in his estate, even as he did for Danarius what Anders would have done for him. It was a mark of distinction for him to own such an unusual slave, and Fenris wanted nothing more than for things to return to the way it was. 

The trees on Seheron were a thicker and leafier sort. Entire armies had gone to Seheron only to succumb to unknown diseases before they even saw a Fog Warrior. Fenris had a healthier constitution than most even without his powers, and he could not help but worry that his master would wind up sick. 

Fenris did not know how he would survive without Danarius. 

Though dreamless, the sleep that he had were restless, and the elf's brooding only intensified as the Magister began to discuss tactics with his army. As Master Danarius' bodyguard, Fenris stood in place and listened – he knew what his role was. Everybody suspected that there could be a spy within, but nobody knew who it could be – certainly not aboard the ship, where everybody had their backgrounds vetted. Hence the reason for their extravagant expenses.

“We have to respond with a strong message that a Tevinter Magister such as myself can not be crossed, and that this act of wanton, unprovoked aggression is an invitation to outright war,” The magister said, circling his desk, “A small settlement with little in the way of trade or weapons such as this can not possibly pose a great challenge to the mighty Tevinter. We will be arriving at the settlement in two days' time. Have no fear, for a mighty magister is with you.” 

Everybody who was below Danarius' rank saluted unanimously.

“As for you...” The grey-haired man looked at the elf. “You know what to do.”

“Protect Master at all costs.” He looked at the magister.

“Correct, my little wolf. You are quite a good slave. Come with me, and I shall reward you.” 

The elegant movement of his master's hips was incredibly hypnotising. Fenris allowed himself to keep his distance and look from behind. Ever since his experiences with a mage slave of his own, he had been paying more attention to the way those robes seemed to accentuate the mages' napes, buttocks and shoulders, in particular. 

The elf thought of what Anders might be doing in his absence; there was a pang in his guts. 

Fenris was unsure of what exactly it meant, but it was not pleasant.

As if he had felt the intensity of the elf's gaze, the Magister turned around and looked at his slave sternly. 

It was taboo for a slave to even dream of doing what he'd done to Anders with his Master. 

“You are watching out for my best interests, _slave_.” Danarius said. Fenris noted the use of that word meant to put him in his place, and swallowed guiltily. He could not afford a reply right then, although for some reason blood had begun to rush to his groin and his cheeks.

As soon as they entered Master Danarius' room, the human wrapped his hands around the elf's throat and sneered in disgust. Fenris' body went limp; his vision darkened until his Master released him.

Gasping for breath, the elf could only get on all fours. “I'm sorry, Master.”

“You have been distracted of late,” Danarius said. “Do not make me regret giving you what you currently have.”

“I won't.” Fenris promised. “I... love you, Master.”

Those words seemed to have their effect on Danarius. 

“Ah... My little pet. How sweet of you. Why don't you show me just exactly how much you love me?” 

The calculating look in his Master's eyes never went away, even though his touch did soften. The elf's cock twitched as the human's hands ran along his nape and settled on the back of his head, exerting a slight bit of pressure upwards. The elf obediently straightened his back as he remained on his knees, and licked his lips, keeping his mouth half-open for his Master should he wish to use it.

“You're such a worthless and filthy thing.” Danarius said, observing from above. “You should be grateful that I keep you by my side... Or have you become too accustomed to the cushy life right now?”

“N... No, Master. There is nowhere that I would rather be.” For what it was worth, which was not much for a slave, those words were sincere. His allegiance, his devotion – it was to his Master, first and foremost. 

Danarius' smirk seemed to suggest that Fenris knew his place well enough to be properly rewarded. He smacked the elf's cheeks lightly, seeming to contemplate using his mouth for one moment, before deciding otherwise. “Crawl in front of the mirror. I want you to see what a needy, dirty little pet you are. No better than an animal. Understood?”

“Yes, Master.” Fenris did precisely as told, getting up so that he bent directly over the basin. He could see what Danarius meant; his face, his skin, his entire body was something of an abomination – and it was a miracle that anybody would find him attractive. He gritted his teeth and spread his legs, so that the Master could see his hardening cock dangle between his legs... And, on second thought, spread his asscheeks like how Anders always did for him.

“Oh? You've learnt how to better service your superiors.” Danarius raised an eyebrow, pleased. “There is something to be said for the practice of granting slaves property of their own.”

“Master.” Fenris simply said quietly, arching his back. 

“Lube up.” Danarius pressed a jar of lube against his face. The elf nodded gratefully, and did exactly as he was told, using the salve on his ass as much as he could. When he was done, his buttocks glistened, and his soft opening twitched, darkened and raw. 

Fenris did not dare to look up into the mirror at his Master, but the magister seemed to approve of his actions, using two hands to grip his buttocks as if testing the ripeness of fruits, and began to slide his rock-hard cock in without giving him any chance to adjust. Fenris' body twitched; his knees felt weak, and he could barely balance on his feet. He should have been used to it by then, but it always took him by surprise just how rough Master was with him when he wasn't used to satisfy some sort of inhuman urges.

The elf only let out a soft grunt as he was pounded sore. He looked up into the mirror once, and managed to see his Master's beautiful grey eyes, looking down coldly yet lovingly at him. He wondered if he looked the same to Anders, and he suddenly felt nauseous. 

No matter how, he could not exorcise the image of that pitiful mage from his mind's eye.

“Master...” Fenris moaned, “I am nothing without you, Master...!” 

A smirk crossed his Master's face as he came inside him, and pulled out, leaving Fenris bent over the basin, unclothed and dizzy. 

“You may cum.”

It was an instruction, not permission. Fenris leaned forward and began to stroke his cock, causing his balls to jiggle wantonly. Danarius' palms remained on Fenris' slim hips, smacking his ass with knowing, harsh strokes, watching with satisfaction as cum dripped from that used opening.

Fenris closed his eyes, and allowed himself to dirty up the place under his Master's loving gaze.

  
  



	15. 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Seheron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no porn in this chapter. :(   
> ...I may make up for it with horned bara porn in the next one, but I'm not sure if I will. I also, really, do not like adding OCs to fanfiction, but I had no choice. Drathir and Karashok are mine, sort of. There won't be any het pairings explicitly.

What happened next, nobody would have predicted. It was Fenris who woke Danarius up when the ship rocked back and forth in the storm. It was Fenris who defended his Master as they crashed into a Tal Vashoth settlement, and it was Fenris who waited till the next day when Danarius ascertained the extent of their loss to proclaim the expedition a failure.

It was Fenris who waited, patiently, as his Master looked at him with a jealousy reserved for taken lovers as the boat sailed away. 

“We cannot afford to take anything with us if we wish to survive this expedition!” The ship's captain, who had managed to remain unscathed in the fight, managed to convince Danarius that it was impossible to bring Fenris – weighed down with his lyrium and all – along with them on the small emergency lifeboat back home. “Surely a slave like him can be easily replaced--”

“Do you think me a lowly Magister, that I would keep by my side something easily replaced?” Danarius had growled. “But enough. I will be back for you, my little wolf.”

The elf's heart sank as his master's silhouette disappeared into the early morning fog. 

The thick, leafy foliage of the island made Fenris feel even more lost. He knew enough of the local settlements to avoid them – hopefully he could have kept it that way and last long enough for his Master's return. Aside for survival, Fenris' spare time was spent scouting and reflecting – something which he had not had the opportunity to do.

His mage, Anders, often crossed his mind, especially in those lonely nights when he wished that he had somebody to hold and comfort. Even if it was a patriachal sort of comfort, Fenris knew that such ties – the ties of Master and slave – were what kept order in Tevinter. It gave both Master and slave identities; it gave them meaning in their otherwise empty lives. Anders, in his mind, had been melded into some pastiche sort of ideal; a wanton mage who lay spread out against the sheets for him and him alone; a rebel who had fought and succumbed to his “taming” and rehabilitation, and a fellow slave who had been the pride of Master Danarius' alongside himself. Anders signified everything that Fenris had come to know as his home.

From a ratty, insolent mage, Fenris sculpted that idea of Anders into something golden, something untouched by time, something beautiful, perfect in its imperfection. He marvelled, in the solitude of night, the way the mage's body seemed to glow in the moonlight the first time he claimed him for himself. His only regret was being unable to have taken _his_ Anders back after the Magisters had soiled him.

It was this image of Anders that Fenris thought about as he curled up, shivering, eyes burning, body weak, high from a fever. The region was prime for disease, after all, and despite Fenris' staunch constitution, even he fell prey to local diseases. His memory of Anders turned into a nostalgia of the golden ages in his life, one that he clung onto as he struggled for his life.

Delirious, Fenris slept for days.

When he woke up, groggy and lethargic, he was in an unfamiliar surrounding. It should not have been a surprise; things happened, after all. He was much more surprised to learn that they'd kept him alive and intact than anything else; perhaps they wished to torture him before killing him. The elf decided that he would rather not die. 

The hut was small and sparse, with what appeared to be ritualistic totems of sorts; elements of magic. Fenris felt as if the connection to the Fade was weaker there; the habitual ache in his skin and agony from simply existing with lyrium inside of him was dulled and muted. He had never felt such a thing before; he could still phase if he wished to, but there was something quite exotic about the use of totems to fortify the Veil.

A rattling could be heard coming from outside as somebody approached the hut, and the elf jumped in surprise. He'd picked up something hard and hidden it behind him, just in case he needed to talk with his hands rather than with his mouth.

“You are awake,” An elf said in Tevene. 

Elf. Fenris had heard something about the rebels; he had been expecting the Qunari or a stray enclave of humans. Not an elf. “Indeed.”

“Our hunters found you in the jungle,” The elf explained. “You were very sick, so we took you in. Do not worry – there are quite a number of us in the settlement; many of us came from Tevinter and Par Vollen. We will not turn you in, no matter where you came from.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow when he heard that. “Yet you are speaking in Tevene.”

“Yes.” The elf smiled. 

He narrowed his eyes, but relaxed a little at the lack of imminent threat. “Care to tell me a little more about this place?”

“This is just one of the settlements on Seheron, occupied by the local warriors who have had a tradition known as the Fog Warriors. You have probably heard of them. Either way, you should rest. It will be a while before you are allowed to meet the others.” The elf placed a tub by his side. “I apologise. We are not usually so inhospitable, but you are ill and we have to follow tradition.”

Disease containment. Fenris knew that. He nodded quietly; this elf had the mannerisms of a Tevinter domestic slave. He relaxed as the elf wiped him clean with warm water, fed him some warm herbal concoction, and closed his eyes, drifting off into a comfortable sleep.

  
  


**

  
  


The settlement contained, surprisingly, a fair number of elves. Fenris wore his armour out of habit, but soon found it entirely unnecessary. Still, it had become like a second skin to him, and he continued without regard. Many seemed curious about his lyrium tattoos, but few had the guts to ask; most assumed that he was the same as them – each with a background of sorts. It was the locals who were curious. 

In particular, a young elven woman named “Drathir”, who seemed to Fenris to be respected and feared by the elves. She had taken up Fog Dancing – something that only the local people did, not the elves.

Drathir had a surprisingly deep voice, one that Fenris would have pegged as male had she also not been wearing dresses and make-up, and referred to herself exclusively as a woman. From her, Fenris learnt that the elders had met with the Fog Warrior who infiltrated Danarius' estate. They knew where he came from, and who he used to belong to. 

“Master said that he would come and fetch me,” Fenris said quietly.

Drathir looked at him with pitying eyes. “Are you waiting for him?”

The elf thought about it, and realised that there was literally nothing stopping him from running away. “I don't know what I would do without him.”

“You are living well without him at the moment,” she replied, “You can do plenty of things without him.”

Fenris conceded. “Is that why you learnt Fog Dancing?”

She did not deny it, so he assumed that that was the case.

Fenris began to observe the practices of the locals, starting with the secretive Fog Warriors. There were warriors outside of this clannish association, but the Fog Warriors were the only ones who were organised by virtue of local culture. In daily life, Fenris heard a smattering of Common, Tevene and Qunari. A Qunari named Karashok, who was neither of the Qun nor a Tal Vashoth, taught him lines from Par Vollen in the meantime, although Fenris found the accent difficult to emulate. 

It turned out that it was Karashok who had found him; he had assumed that Fenris was like any other elf who had tried to escape from Tevinter across the border. 

“This is not true,” Fenris said. “I did not run away from my Master; it was he who left me here, and it was _not_ because I was _not_ a valued slave--”

Karashok's face was expressionless, but the way his eyes smouldered with compassion made Fenris breathless. “You have been through a lot.”

Fenris thought about it. “Perhaps I have. How is it different from everyone here? Does nobody here wish to return?”

“Do _you_ wish to return?”

Fenris was at a loss for words. 

Karashok continued, “It was not I who abandoned the duty that the Arishok gave me. It was my duty that abandoned me. Whether or not we are here by circumstances is irrelevant. We are now free to create our own duties.”

“How is that meaningful?” Fenris asked, resting his chin on his knees. 

Within view, Fenris could see Drathir dancing and reciting the Fog Warrior mythos. The way her voice resounded over the percussoin made everything seem surreal; he was suddenly transported to the time when he and Anders had the misfortune of watching their healers fall in front of them.

“Duty is meaningful.” Karashok said. “Happiness is fleeting, but duty lasts.”

“That much is true.” Fenris agreed. He thought of Anders right then, and could not decide whether he still thought of the mage as his slave or not, since out here, none of it mattered.

“Things change. I chose to live when I was expected to die. You had no choice, but Danarius may not return for you.”

“Master Danarius will return,” Fenris said quietly. He rested his head against the wooden walls of the hut and listened quietly to the backdrop of leaves while Drathir's chanting sounded in the distance. 

“Do not call him that. You are a free man here, Fenris. Your duty is to yourself.” 

“I...” Fenris lowered his head. “Thank you. I will think about it.”

  
  



	16. 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still in Seheron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drathir and Karashok continue to play a role, I guess.   
> I swear this will get back to Fenders. Slowly. Eventually.

 

Seashells were strung together and hung by the door, such that everytime somebody entered or left, there would be a rattling sound. 

Though there was no real pressure to do anything, Fenris offered his sword for the defense of the settlements. They communicated with the other settlements only rarely. Where Fenris' ability to speak different languages had once come in useful, now he was relegated to the background. This did not bother him too much, as he had always been a follower, not a leader. When they did not have to worry about Par Vollen or Tevinter, Fenris found himself sitting by Karashok as he held a lesson for the children in the afternoon. 

“Though those that are not of the Qun are Bas, we consider the worthy Bas 'Basilit-an'...” 

Fenris listened quietly. The Tevinter Chantry had spoken of the Qunari as heretics, but that was natural. It was the first that he had heard of mages being so dangerous and vulnerable to corruption that he had to question why the Fog Warriors refused to rip out their mages' tongues in the first place. In the end, he reasoned, the Qunari were right about the nature of demonic corruption; this thought brought him back to the times when Danarius placed the seeds of foul corruption within him and violated in unspeakable ways.

Fenris never told anybody of that, but the way the villagers looked at him, occasionally, seemed to be filled with pity and an unspoken understanding. The more time passed, the calmer Fenris felt. Everyday the sun rose and set; there was sometimes rain, but there was mostly fair weather.On certain days, they would do certain things, such as guarding the fishermen from roaming bandits who would kidnap their villages and elves to sell back to the Imperium.

“You are the first,” Drathir said, “Beside the Qunari.”

“The first to?” Fenris said. 

“To accept me as I am, regardless of how I sound.” The elven women smiled.

“I...” Fenris tilted his head and shrugged. “I presumed that it is not my concern.”

Drathir nodded. She sat down beside him and strung the seashells together. Fenris watched, suddenly feeling a sort of comfort that one felt from the memories of childhood.

Fenris wanted to tell her that she seemed so familiar, in a way that he had never known, but there was no way to put it into words. He simply did not know how. But he gathered, from talking to her and from observations, that there was such a thing as childhood, and that people often remembered them. 

Drathir's story was that of a typical Tevinter elf; her father was punished and sent off for daring to sleep with her mother. She was then taken from her mother as soon as she was of age, to be sold from slaver to slaver. Unlike himself, she never found a real Master; when she discovered that she was to be sold to a brothel, she escaped by leaping into the sea.

“I would not have thought of leaping into the sea.” Fenris stated, “...It constantly amazes me what people with memory can think of.”

“Perhaps that is what your... Magister intended when he took the memories from you,” Drathir replied. 

“Yes... I can see why now.”

She put the last of the seashells into the basket, stood up, and stretched. Fenris followed suit. “On top of that, he seems like the jealous sort.” 

Fenris would have called it love once upon a time, but now he realised that it was simply Danarius and his petty ego. He gritted his teeth, and spat out, “Yes. He _is_ the jealous sort.” 

“If you ever need to talk, I am here.” Drathir said, with the understanding that only fellow elven slaves had.

“I... Thank you.” He said after a while. They got up together and stood by the huts again, watching as Karashok returned from his lessons and training. 

“Isn't he magnificent?” 

“Karashok?” Fenris was surprised. He looked again, and saw the way Karashok's muscled body glistened with sweat from a hard day's work. “I... suppose.”

“He likes men, though.” Drathir smiled at him. “You are like a brother that I have never had. I think you are worthy of each other.”

Fenris lowered his head, his face flushed red. “... _Sister_...? This sounds... strange. I... Thank you. I will take that into consideration.” 

The elves watched as the Qunari disappeared into the other hut. 

“I... I can't help but feel that everything is just a dream. Do not get me wrong; this has been the happiest period of my life.” Fenris said, after a while. 

Drathir looked at him, and shook her head. “We take care of our own here. None of us would let that magister take you.” 

Fenris lowered his head. 

“Is there somebody that you wish to return to?”

“Somebody that isn't my master-- that isn't Danarius.” Fenris said, gritting his teeth. “...Pfah, _he_ doesn't need me. I... It would be wonderful if I could never return. All I have to do is look into the sunset and take a deep breath... Everything becomes beautiful again, and nothing hurts.”

Drathir's silence seemed to indicate that she felt the same way in Seheron. “We all have our regrets. All we can do is live with them.”

“I have no cause to disagree with such words of wisdom.” A smile crossed Fenris' face.

  
  


**

  
  


“Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun.”

The last of the fog had faded away when Fenris listened to Karashok's prayer. 

“This is the Qunari prayer of the dead,” Karashok said.

“What does it mean?”

“Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun.”

“You have taught the children here much of the Qun,” Fenris observed. As if to illuminate what was just said, Karashok gazed into the distance, where the seabreeze came from. “Why say the Prayer now?”

“I have been thinking.” Karashok said, “The Warrior's aesthetic is akin to art. The reason I did not return was because I have misplaced my sword; it represents my soul. Without it, I am soulless. Perhaps it is time that I return to the Qun as it should be.”

Fenris blinked. He had the sense to bite his tongue about his opinion on the Qun. Instead, he said, “Anaan esaam Qun?” 

“Victory is in the Qun.”

Fenris furrowed his brows. He looked at the Qunari. “It is not my place to comment on the Qun, but that certainty does betide you. Still, it is a rare one that seeks to die without a cause.”

“The Qun is the cause.” Karashok replied. He looked at Fenris and brushed his fingers against those lips, eliciting a blush from the elf. He looked up and into the distance, at the warriors, who had begun to get into formation, skin painted white like the fog. 

“Perhaps you should listen to yourself. Maraas shokra. Is it not?” Fenris suggested, in the most gentle way that he could. 

The warriors in the distance began to move. 

Fenris thought, vaguely, that he would never do well as a Fog Warrior; they relied on the fog, whilst he relied solely on his strength. This he had in common with Karashok. Apart from that, both of them had to rediscover their own roles in life.

“Surely the Qun would not demand that you leap early to your death when you can redeem yourself in other ways. The people here are Viddathari, but they remain Kabethari.” 

“This is so. The Tamassran here differ. I am starting to take on a new role beyond the Qun, but perhaps this is what the Qun has meant for me.” Karashok nodded. He lifted his horned face to the sky for a moment. “Thank you, Kadan. This is a perspective I have not considered.”

 


	17. 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris' days in Seheron are coming to an end.

  
  


17.

  
  


Fenris' days in Seheron passed by like sequences of a happy dream.

He himself had pleasant dreams, too, of a more innocent time. 

Whenever he woke up, he found that he could not remember a single thing except for how happy he'd felt in that dream, so all he could do was wistfully stare into the darkness and wait for dawn to come. Under the twinkling stars, he began to fill in the blanks for himself; this feeling – this memory – was akin to that of a sibling; that emotion must have came from the embrace of a protective guardian. 

Their faces never quite came to him, but his mind substituted them with the people that he knew. Fenris was not stupid; nor was he delusional. He tried to erase them and reconstruct them such that they were truer to reality, but the more he attempted to match them to people whom he knew, the more he was certain that he had no idea who they were.

“I am sure that you will be able to remember them someday. Let them come to you.” Drathir advised.

“How can you be so sure?” Fenris couldn't help asking.

“Because, brother, that is how memories are.”

So it was, that Fenris began to think of his past as a distant dream. It was real, but the emotions that it evoked was no longer attainable for his present self.

Despite all of that, he allowed himself one indiscretion. 

Fenris could not forget Anders. The mage persistantly haunted his thoughts with a pitiful look on his face. The times when he woke up alone in the night without a solid body right beside him only intensified his regret. While he felt at home among his present company, this sense of unspeakable guilt served as a shroud that isolated him from those with clear conscience.

He wondered how Anders was doing, and what sort of trials he would have to go through under Danarius' care. He thought of how harsh he had been to a mage that had not been tamed, and told himself that while it was not right, it was _necessary_.

Still, even this was not enough to soothe his guilty conscience. Fenris let his imagination run away; he imagined that Anders, in his absence, had become something of a Magister who was not born of royal blood, now that he was in Danarius' direct care. He pictured, in great detail, the human mage in one of those gold-trimmed robes, smiling as Danarius praised him for being a great student. 

Anders' dispirited face began to meld together with other humans – indistinguishable and proud, ready to look down on an elf for simply being an elf. 

That must have been why Anders was so resistant to being disciplined, he thought; it was because Anders was a mage and a human, at that. These two factors meant that he could never accept an elf as a master – that all he had done was to create a false impression of belonging in Danarius' service. 

Deep inside, Fenris knew that these fantasies were unfounded, but he held on to them because it made him feel better.

He owed the mage nothing. There should be no pity for somebody who had a choice, and that choice was to embrace blood magic. Fenris told himself that the mage should consider himself lucky for not being born Qunari. 

That mental image only caused him more anguish – the mage, _his_ mage, with his eyes and mouth sewn shut. Was what he had done to Anders akin to gouging out his eyes and stitching his lips together? Of course, it was a hyperbole, but the imagery had already been planted in Fenris' mind.

No, he told himself desperately, as he pumped his own cock with bitter melancholy and spilled his seed onto his own belly. 

Anders was definitely a magister by then. It was inevitable that anybody who had a choice would not succumb to the path of power.

He was a slave, with no choice, memories, or even an alternative. 

Anders had far more than he did. Most importantly, he was a mage. 

They had nothing in common.

  
  


  
  


**

  
  


“I will not be around to guard the village tomorrow. There is a ship from Minrathous passing by. It seems like there will be more war – I am needed elsewhere.” Drathir said, above the crackling of the bonfire. 

Fenris looked up from his dinner. He had not heard of Minrathous in a long time; he set the bowl down, and looked at his friends in disbelief. “Danarius must be here.”

“We don't know for a fact that it's him.” Drathir put a hand on his arm. 

“It has to be him!” Fenris gritted his teeth and shook her hand away. “You do not know the lengths to which Danarius will go for his petty ego.”

“There usually is no slave shipment from Minrathous.” Karashok said. 

Both of them looked at each other and at Fenris as he paced around, trying to calm himself down. 

“All of the non-Fog Warriors will be here.” Drathir covered Fenris' bowl. “We will be scouting and engaging the ship away from here. Relax – back home, Danarius is a powerful Magister. Here, he is just a mage, a man who will bleed like anybody else.”

Fenris looked at the two, and saw worry in both of their eyes. He growled like a wounded animal, arms wrapped around himself as he hunched over. 

“We have the advantage here. It is the Fog Warriors' home.” Drathir said softly. She added, “...One of our warriors have seen you before, in Danarius' mansion. I did not tell you this, because it is secret. But know this: we have successfully pulled off an assassination in Danarius' own home. We can take him here and now, and we will be victorious.”

Fenris closed his eyes and watched as Karashok threw another flint into the fire. He tried to remember – he could recall his mage, vulnerable and naked beside him, their healers falling behind them. Yes. They were behind that assassination attempt. “...Who is behind this?”

The elf turned her head. “This, I cannot say.”

“...You killed two lowly healers instead of the Magisters that you set out to get. It was clearly a botched assassination attempt.” Fenris hissed, “You got the wrong people! How is this supposed to be of any comfort?” 

Drathir seemed taken aback at how much he knew, even though it was mere guesswork. A moment's worth of delay was enough to muck things up; in this case, the mages to fall in that room should have been the magisters, who had left because of the Knight-Commander's death. If executed correctly, at least one magister should have died. 

Karashok got up, his bulk casting a shadow over Fenris' small frame. His eyes glinted in the shadows as he hurled Fenris up and set him down on the chair.

“Enough. You are blind, acting like any other _bas_.” 

Fenris kept still for a moment, and then hammered his fists against his knees. Tears stung his eyes as he heard the word bas – for so long Karashok had called him _Kadan_ , that he had not thought this would ever happen. 

It might as well have been a blow to the face.

“If you will not fight him, we will.” Karashok said firmly, got up, and left the campfire. “Get some rest. We will need it.”

“Listen,” Drathir said, “We have an underground network that helps to smuggle slaves so that they can become free men and women. This is how many of us came to be here. We need capable people like you – people who have been in the service of Magisters. People who know Minrathous. You are free here – once we kill your Magister, we can help other slaves like yourself escape.”

Fenris kept his eyes down, and looked away. “...I do not know anything about freeing others.”

“You are intelligent, Fenris. You will learn. Surely the Maker has rescued you from Danarius so that you can do greater things.” She gave him an affirming smile and headed back to the hut.


	18. 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danarius has arrived at Seheron - to fetch "his" "little wolf".

18.  
  


Of course, it was Danarius. Fenris chatised himself for daring to hope, for a brief moment, for it to be somebody else. Whereupon he would have fought, he now stood rooted to the ground, watching as his friends resisted handing him over.

_I am a warrior._

A warrior whose limbs felt like lead.

Danarius had taught him, once upon a time, that warriors were inherently inferior to mages because all one had to do was take control of their mind – or body. Simply pressing against one nerve could reduce one to paralysis. It was worse when one did it with one's mind.

Fenris held his sword tightly. He held it in different ways, visible only to experienced warriors, but the sweat of his palm made every position seem wrong. He was certain that if he went into battle holding his sword like that, he would have lost control and had it knocked out of his hands in no time.

_I am no warrior. I am a coward._

Everything seemed to simultaneouly happen both too fast and too slow.

Fenris noticed, after some time, that Drathir was no longer in sight. Karashok suffered minor wounds, mostly from arrows, but was still fighting. These were his friends, and he could not help them.

Where could Drathir be...?

He craned his neck, but he managed to catch sight of his Master, who had made his way to the center – bringing along with him a maelstrom of blood and limbs.

“My little wolf!” He snarled. “There you are!”

Fenris froze, as bolts of lightning struck his friends and settled into his own.

Everything else was a blur, and Fenris would relive this moment for many years to come. _Of course_ it would be this way. _Of course_ his master would find him. _Of course_ he would bring him back... He should not have hoped. Not even for one millisecond.

He looked around and saw his friend's bodies.

“Come, my little wolf.” Danarius said, a smug grin on his face. “Your pet and your home awaits you.”

Fenris let his hair obscure his vision for one moment. Everyone was dead, but him, Danarius' entourage, and... The mage in chains.

He could try to claim his mage, and then flee.

Or he could flee, just like that.

The mage's lips were sewn shut, his eyes blindfolded – like a saarebas. Fenris would have never joined the Qun, and he certainly understood why the Qunari treated their mages that way. But... That was too much. Had he been around, Anders would have remained pliant and subservient.

Fenris felt as if there was an invisible chain linking him and _his_ mage. He could run, but with Anders there, he would never be free.

“...Master.” He said, through gritted teeth. “...My… mage. How has he been?”

The look on Danarius' face told him that this had all been calculated to bring him back. If there was anybody who knew him like the back of his hand, it was the proverbial man who played the role of the maker and created him, the monster.

“He has been behaving quite well.” Danarius replied, with a rattle of the chains. “Follow me. We will return to Minrathous. I will host a banquet to celebrate the return of my loyal pet.”

Loyalty.

Never had the word been so bitter.

Whereupon he would have once thanked his master, the elf did not reply.

  
  


**

  
  


Anders' melodic voice could only be heard in the form of whimpers and pained moans. Fenris had no desire to touch that horrendous visage, knowing that this was precisely what Danarius would have done to him had he took the opportunity to run. He did, however, allow himself to take the chains, rattle them, and watch as the mage crawled closer to sniff him the way a hound would.

He felt absolutely disgusted with himself as he held out his hand for the mage, who nodded and tried to smile with his stitched-up mouth.

“...What have you done that warranted this treatment, Anders?” Fenris asked, as he quietly removed the blindfolds, praying that those beautiful amber eyes still remained intact.

They were, fortunately, so. The mage's eyes were narrowed at the sudden influx of light – from disuse, Fenris guessed – so Fenris drew the curtains of the ship and left it at that.

“...Even you must have had some idea of what to do and what not to do with Master, in my absence.” He muttered. The look of pity on his face contorted into anger, as he kicked the mage in his sides and muttered, “If not for you...!”

_If not for you, I would not be here._

Anders made some pained noises and curled up in a fetal position, until Fenris stopped kicking the mage in his mania. He looked for the sword, and raised them in his despair, so that he could put the mage out of his misery.

_Then what?_

It was not Anders' beautiful eyes that caused him to stay his sword, but the overarching sense of despair.

The metal of the weapon clattered down onto the wooden planks of the ship, as did the chains, and Fenris turned towards the bed, to lie on his front. He had not shed a single tear since... The operation that marked his existence, and _that_ was due to the blinding pain. This anguish was something that Fenris would never have thought a human – or elf – capable of feeling, and he suddenly realised that this was why Anders would rather be put out of his misery... Back when he was new.

He fell asleep with his face buried into the pillow, and awoke with the mage holding onto his own chains, lying by his side, just a hair's breadth away. Anders' restful face was his salvation. He pulled the mage close and held him tightly, resting his chin against that blond head.

That was right... He had only known life outside of Minrathous for only a couple of months. But for the mage, there was surely years of such experiences, in a much wider world than the one he had just traversed in, with Karashok and Drathir.

He wondered if he would ever tell Anders about those two. Probably not. He decided to keep their memory sacred – untainted by his life as a slave.

“What have you seen out there in the world that I have not, mage?” He wondered as he ran his fingers through the human's locks. “You should tell me someday, if your mouth and tongue still work.”

 _In the Fog Warriors..._ No. He would not say that.

“There exists an occupation known as a storyteller. You could tell me stories. Instead of shutting you up, I would hear them.” Fenris muttered. “Did you have family? A childhood? Memories? ...Friends? I wish to hear them all, someday. I will free your tongue, if you promise never to tell.”

Anders nodded quietly and made some affirmative noises.

Fenris smiled. He searched his armour for a pocket knife, lit a candle, and began to cut through the thread.

Anders' voice was hoarse, as he tried to speak. What came out of his throat were little disjointed sounds, like a tiny bird learning to chirp.

“Keep still.” Fenris ordered, and carefully pulled out the thread, which the skin had failed to heal around. “...I... have heard of piercing holes closing, so perhaps these will heal, over time. Here. Have some water.”

Anders took a sip and made some more throaty sounds.

Fenris watched him, suddenly feeling a bit better, and pulled his chains so that the mage fell into his lap.

“...It's okay. You will get used to this once again, and you will speak and tell me stories so that I can return to something... Someone. I will work hard to keep Master happy, so you need never worry about anything ever again.”

Fenris wondered what the life that Anders led before that must have been like. He imagined Ferelden as it was often described, muddy and filled with Tevinter dog breeds. Or Anderfels, with its imposing Grey Warden fortress at Weisshaupt. He hated mages and the power that they had over him, this was true. But he did not truly hate Anders... Not while he was so pitiful and helpless.

Being a slave meant that he never knew what lay beyond the confines of his Master's immediate circle, and this felt like the reality that he was always used to.

The rest of his own words felt like an adult babbling to an infant who was still learning to speak. “Was it as real to you as the beautiful dream I just had...?”

“Unngh.” Anders warbled in reply.

“Of course it was real. But you, you had to be here...”

“Gnghhh.”

“...Yes. I shouldn't have returned.”

Anders looked at him sadly.

“I am such a fool...”

  
  


 


	19. 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris struggles to return to life under Danarius, with Anders by his side.

19.

If Danarius did, in fact, notice the change in himself, he did not utter a word about it. Fenris often made sure to stand in front of Anders like a protective hound, the way he would protect his Master from potential attacks. On the way back to Minrathous, Fenris kept his Master occupied by keeping his attention to himself, pledging his loyalty to the mage once again by offering his body.

He killed his own friends. He deserved to suffer. Danarius did not fail to make him suffer.

_Poetic justice._

During the day, he occupied his mind with thoughts of what would please his master just to fall asleep with that empty, sinking feeling in his belly. He knew that it was unseemly of him to not parade Anders around in front of Danarius the way he did before, but he made it a point to delay the inevitable for as long as he could.

“I... presume that I will return to life as it was before this.” He said, looking down onto the carpet of Danarius' suit. Its soft, intricate details made a good distraction from the way Danarius' body looked.

“Absolutely. Why would I deprive my precious pet of what he has earned so far?” Danarius smirked.

“Thank you, Master.” Fenris said, as he got on his knees. And this he did, fighting ocne again in the coliseum, climbing to the top of the charts once more. Danarius paraded him in front of the other magisters as if he was a prize, and Fenris resigned himself to that dubious honour.

With his lips unsewn and his speech regained, Anders now ran Fenris' household in his absence. He knew that the mage had been doing some aspect of this when he returned to his own mansion to find that things were tidier than usual, with what appeared to be the mage's scribbles on parchment. Fenris could recognise certain patterns that seemed to say words like “bacon” – although it could well be something or other for all he knew. The numerals beside these words implied that Anders had been in charge of payments and household expenses.

Anders probably did more than that in his absence. Fenris did not ask; he did not want to know. He kept his eyes narrowed and on the lookout for suspicious activities, but everything seemed more or less normal.

When Fenris had time for himself, he would occupy himself with thoughts of the Fog Warriors, the daily activities of his now-dead friends, and, occasionally, entertain the thought of slicing his own belly apart.

Anders would distract him the way an animal would, rubbing against him and offering himself. Fenris would take, and never give back what affection was given. What would a mage know of not putting on a mask, anyway?

Masks. Fenris could now see through Danarius', clear as day. Danarius was probably obssessed with the idea that Fenris was his and his alone; that he was an object or a creation. One that he gave life to. One that he trained, like an animal, imbued with the power of speech, like a god, and commanded, like the owner of a pet.

Fenris was absolutely disgusted with himself as he took Anders from behind, on all fours, like an animal. But what else was he to do? The mage seemed to have pegged him as the shining knight in armour, on whom he depended for his well-being. Of course, it was probably just an act to satiate Fenris' ego, so that he would not lose interest in the mage. Fenris slapped that round ass, pulled strands out of that blond hair, and dug his nails into that soft flesh.

_I am not your master. You are not my pet._

The candlelight flickered as he lay down on his side, limbs entangled with the mage's. He could feel the curves of his belly rise and fall gently and hear his breathing, ragged as it was.

“Anders?”

“You called?”

“The templars... Why did they sell you to Danarius?”

“Oh. I escaped one too many times, and one of the templars – not the Knight Commander himself – decided that nobody would miss one errant apostate. I was supposedly dead. It was either to surrender willingly and come to Tevinter, or become Tranquil upon return.” Anders looked away. “I didn't want to become a mindless Templar slave.”

“...Why did you escape?”

Anders rolled around, such that they lay face to face. “You want to know why? I wasn't born in captivity, like an animal. There were things outside... Things that I missed. The smell of freedom. Pies. Being able to take a piss without the Templars breathing down my neck.”

“Freedom.” Fenris said, bitterness in his voice.

“Exactly.” Anders seemed to recognise why, because he smiled. “Want to hear about my first escape?”

The first time he ran away from the circle, rain poured from the sky. He felt them run down his face and into his eyes, and wiped them away as if they were tears. He found a neighbouring farmstead, chatted up a local girl his age, and hit the hay with her in exchange for a lie to the templars. That day, the hearthfire seemed a little warmer, and Anders thought he was in love again, although he was not sure with what, and ran away as soon as she fell asleep.

“They caught me, because of this blasted phalactery that they kept inside Kinloch Hold. For all of their talk about blood magic, those blasted templars used blood magic to keep track of us. I was still young and naïve, so I had expected to go farther than that.”

“Blood magic.” Fenris said. He thought about the use of blood to fuel Danarius' spells, usually from some hapless slave. “Surely you've thought about it.”

“I have. But why turn to blood magic when there are good spirits in the Fade, like that of Justice?”

“Have you met one?”

“Yes. In the Fade. There was one that helped me during my Harrowing. He... agreed that mages were slaves. That is how I got the power to ressurrect – though every time I cast that spell, he... gets a little weaker.” Anders shrugged, and smiled again. Fenris caught himself mirroring that expression, caught in ideas of the Fade that was not the nightmarish vision which Danarius conjured.

Anders' face positively lit up upon recollections of his adventures. Fenris saw a trace of Anders' carefree youth as that scarred mouth curled up into a shadow of a smile, and he drifted off into sleep thinking of running away from Tevinter himself.

_...I am a hypocrite._

  
  


**

  
  


“You are not at all curious about what _your_ slave has done in your absence?” Danarius asked, one day, rousing him from his sleep with a slap of his bum.

Fenris positively jumped. He lowered his eyes at the sight of his Master's naked body. “I... presume it was something of grave consequence, Master. One that warranted his punishment, which he has since paid for. A slave is best kept ignorant, is he not?”

There was a tired disgust in Danarius' voice. “Yes. He is. But you have not kept your slave ignorant. It makes me question whether giving you your own estate was at all a good choice.”

Fenris swallowed.

The old mage stroked his scraggly beard, grey eyes glimmering with cold calculation. His voice, however, was one of paternalistic disappointment. “I put my faith in you, Fenris. You were my best warrior, and the smartest of your kind. Yet, like an animal you have only limited capabilities, and while I appreciate your finer qualities, you remain an animal.”

The elf's ear twitched upon hearing that. He could see through his Master's techniques even while his heart sank to his feet with the thought that he had messed up profoundly. “I... apologise, master. I will look into the matter at once.”

Danarius narrowed his eyes. “Is nothing wrong these days? Have you been paying attention to the on-goings in your household?”

Fenris nodded. “I have been scrutinising every detail, Master.”

The mage seemed satisfied with his answer. “Well, now. I hear that you have allowed your slave some degree of personal freedom while keeping him on a careful leash. Not all slaves deserve the treatment that you get, Fenris. It is only fitting, as per norms and customs, that you train him and keep him well-groomed. Bring him with you tomorrow. I will be hosting a party, and it is imperative that the two of you attend.”

“I see. Thank you for your magnanimousity, Master. I will think about what you said.”

  
  



	20. 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reason for Anders' punishment by Danarius is revealed. Meanwhile, Fenris tries to put Anders to use in another way.

20.

“Please, don't make me go. I will do anything, Master.”

Fenris' hand was raised in midair when the mages' eyes made him stop in self-disgust. He was becoming weak. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“I... wish to find out more about my life prior to this...” He looked down, and gestured at his body. “Ritual. I do not remember much of my life before; all I know for certain is that the pain of this ritual must have wiped out any existing memory.”

Anders blinked. “Are you not in a position to do it yourself, sir?”

“Don't … make me seem stupid.” Fenris growled, causing Anders to shiver. He pulled a piece of paper out from his pocket. “...Perhaps in retrospect, I truly am stupid. But the fact is that the slaves of Tevinter are not as privileged as the mage-slaves elsewhere. We do not know how to read. This is where you come in.”

“What is this?” Anders looked at the paper, smoothing out the crumpled edges with his long fingers. His eyes widened for a moment, and then he regained his composure.

“Do you know something that I don't?” Fenris growled.

“No, I ...” Anders stuttered. “It is addressed to you, sir. You have a sister by the name of Velanna, and she has tried to write to you for help regarding her livelihood, since you are in a favoured position to--”

“I... have a sister.”

“At least, according to what the paper says.” Anders turned his gaze upward and got up from his kneeling position. “Yes. I can help you with this. On the condition that I must be protected from Danarius at all costs.”

Fenris lowered his head.

The mage was now fumbling around with the tomes that Fenris had bought him. Or were they the same tomes? Fenris narrowed his eyes. He certainly did not remember buying Anders something so plain, but perhaps the mage had acquired it on his own.

“When did you realise that I can't read?” Fenris asked, suddenly, palming the brown cover of that book, slaming it shut and snatching it out of Anders' hands. It had only just occurred to him that its appearance and pages looked quite similar to a particular directory that Danarius used to refer to whenever he needed somebody contacted. Usually a merchant or a healer. “You did not seem surprised.”

“Well, the idea of being raped and tortured by Danarius was surprisingly shocking enough for somebody of my station, Master. Enough to overshadow your being unable to read, anyhow.” Anders replied with a half-smile. “I realised that a while back when you didn't know that I'd bought bacon despite my payment to the butcher's lying right there on the desk.”

“You've... done something wrong to warrant having your mouth sewn shut.” Fenris' voice quivered. “I... should have known that this was what Danarius was warning me about.”

Anders put both hands up in front of him, “Really, though, that book is hard to come by and I would not recommend--”

He let the book slam onto the surface of the table, and started glowing blue. “You've been playing me for a fool all this while, you wiley fox...!”

“I'm sorry, Master.” Anders replied quickly, as he found himself cornered by a glowering elf and the wall. “I have no excuse.”

“What did you do? Out with it.” Fenris' upper lip lifted in a sneer as he prepared to dig his fist into the mage's chest.

“I... I can't tell you, Master.” Anders bit his lower lip. “And _if_ something were to happen to me, you wouldn't be able to find out more about your sister.”

“Tch.” Fenris stopped in his tracks. The mage had the look of somebody who knew where his chips lay, and this time, he was right. “...Do a good job and I will try to shield you for as long as I can. But don't think that I am invincible, mage.”

Anders breathed a sigh of relief, and smiled quietly.

“What are you smiling at?!” The elf stuck his arms out as wide as he could, trying to make himself seem bigger than he actually was. “I'm still your master, slave--”

“I suppose Danarius kept this from you?” Anders said quietly, “We aren't on different sides, Master.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes, and paced around the room like a trapped wolf. “...Shut up. I don't want to hear your lies.”

Anders nodded, and then started flipping through the book again. Fenris eventually got tired of pacing and got ready for Danarius' party, slipping into his armour by himself while the mage focused his attentions on correspondence and research. The elf stole a look at Anders before he left. Could he have done this himself? He merely needed somebody that he could trust to tell the truth, and there would probably be quite a few people who would be willing, assuming that Danarius was out of the way.

Perhaps he had opened a Pandora's box in trusting the mage.

More importantly, Danarius would now focus all of his attention on him.

 _...Shielding a mage from attacks..._ He mused, noting the irony. _This is the sort of thing that I am trained to do._

  
  


**

“The mage from Ferelden is sadly not available. Claims to have a cold.” Danarius explained to his fellow magisters, “I decided that none of us would like to be exposed to that strain of illnesses, since no healing magic truly helps with that ordeal.”

Were Fenris not blinded by the pain that he was undergoing, he would have realised that one of the magisters had his eyes on him.

“You know, your wife truly holds the best parties, too. That is, at least, according to my wife...”

Danarius chuckled. “Yes. I married somebody capable. But this is all about the boys' fun.”

Fenris groaned quietly. His cock twitched lightly as the tentacle violating his ass seemed to be milking him of the last of his cum. Everyone knew that Danarius and his wife very much preferred to bed the slaves, especially ones like himself.

“The lyrium wouldn't have made it to his bodily fluids, I take it.” The magister said, flicking the elf's cock lightly. He licked his lips, and put a glass to the elf's dribbling appendage.

“Don't touch the tentacles,” Danariuus said.

“I won't. Didn't that mage need to be healed afterwards? It's a surprise that his lower body is intact.”

“I hire only the best healers, even for the most unworthy of slaves. Besides, he has his uses.” Danarius replied, carelessly, “That, and he is allowed to heal himself. He's not untalented, if untrustworthy.”

“What was his crime again? To have his lips sewn shut...” The Magister smirked.

Fenris' ears twitched when he heard that, even though his mind was going blank from both the pain and the forced pleasure.

“Ran a terrorist group designed to subvert Tevene laws. Robbery, smuggling of property, and various other infractions aimed to subvert the regime.” Danarius replied. “Heard that, Fenris?”

The elf nodded. “Yes, Master. You are the most benevolent for … having spared his life.” He whimpered quietly, unable to hide the sob in his voice.

“Yes. Yes I am.” Danarius smirked, placing a finger on Fenris' chin.

“You are far too soft on your own slaves, Danarius.” The magister said, eyes now fixed on his glass. He sniffed the contents as if it was fine wine, and swallowed, swirling his tongue as he did so.

“He won't get another chance again. But my little wolf here...” Danarius smirked, “I did tell of how he slaughtered his kidnappers at my command, did I not? This right here is the most well-trained pet that a magister like myself can have.”

“That does certainly make one quite envious, yes.” The magister said, an eyebrow cocked slightly. He licked his lips and watched as Fenris' eyes finally closed, his posterior still being milked for all he was worth. “Even his bodily fluids taste quite exquisite. I can certainly understand why. Now, if only you will recommend the artisans that so crafted this fine specimen...”

Danarius chuckled. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the wine, and his eyes were fixed on green elven ones. “Dead men tell no tales. They are all dead.”

“Every single one?”

“Every. Single. One.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	21. 21

21.

  
  


“You smuggled slaves out of the Imperium.”

Anders jumped at the statement. “I have no idea what--”

“Danarius told me.” Fenris said, tiredly. “ _That_ was how you earned your punishment.”

The mage flashed a nervous, lop-sided smile. “You don't intend to kill me? _I'd_ recommend letting me live. I'm charming.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “It's a miracle you're let off with such a relatively light punishment. The sentence to treason is usually death, often by slow disembowelment.”

“It is. I often wonder why he kept me alive and even gave me back to you. Either way, you must have been very important to him.”

Fenris lowered his gaze, inhaling sharply as he rested in the tub. He had requested leave from Danarius earlier, as there was a match coming right up. Anders was in charge of healing him back to full health – Fenris had no doubt that Anders would, at that point, simply because of how their very survival seemed to be mutually dependent on one another's. “Yes. I suppose he's not above keeping me as a petty ego-booster.”

“I think he really likes you.”

“I've thought of that. What use is a love that is so centered on one's ego?” Fenris muttered, the disgust in his voice directed at himself. “Enough, mage. The water's getting lukewarm.”

“Getting to it,” Anders replied, using a frost spell on the surface of a new bucket. “Listen. You should join us--”

“Not a chance.” Fenris growled. “I have to survive. And if you keep doing whatever it was you were doing, you will end up dead, too.”

“What's it to you?” Anders replied. “My death. Would it make you sad?”

“Don't be preposterous.”

“...Why did you even return, if you hated _this_ so much?”

“Indeed. What's it to me. Go die.” Fenris muttered under his breath, causing the mage to huff and rub his wound non too gently. “Damn it, mage...!”

Anders looked at him sadly. “You're a coward.”

“I'm not a coward. I have things to protect.”

“Me.” Anders replied.

_If only he knew how much he sounded like a child right then,_ Fenris thought. “And the estate. Don't overestimate your worth.” He muttered, yelping yet again when the mage cleaned his wounds. “Are you trying to kill me before my next match...?! Would it please _you_ that much to see me dead?”

Those amber eyes turned a little soft as the mage leaned closer to press his lips against Fenris' hand. “No. I need you to stay alive.”

“That's the spirit.” Fenris said dryly. “Now... What have you found out about my sister?”

“I may be a mage, but I'm not exactly made of magic when it comes to waiting for people to reply.” Anders replied. “Give it a couple of days. I've sent out letters to whoever matters. A storyteller friend of mine – two, actually, depending on how things go--”

“ _Storyteller_.”

Fenris must have sounded grumpy to Anders, because the mage raised an eyebrow and retorted, “They know who is important and who isn't.”

“...Then who did you have to look up?”

Anders looked away. “I was hoping to find your sister's name in the directory, assuming that she'd learnt a craft. Bloody waste of time.”

“It could be a ploy.” Fenris narrowed his eyes. “I have many enemies. Perhaps some other magister needs me to be weak. Perhaps I have no such sister.”

“I suppose not having memories must be quite a pain in the arse,” Anders commented, wringing out the cloth and wiping Fenris' body for the last time.

“No, it is a pain in the head. You have mistaken amnesia for Danarius' tentacles.” Fenris grunted as he grappled with the surface of the tub, causing water to splash onto the tiled floor. The mage did not comment on his poor attempt at a joke, making it one of the most awkward moments in Fenris' short career in comedy.

Anders took his cue and helped him out, trying not to crumble under the warrior's weight. “Careful there, old man.”

Fenris' brows furrowed at the impertinence, but he had no strong desire to admonish the cheeky slave at that moment. He merely wished to lie in bed and rest for as long as he could before resuming his training routine.

Still, the thought that there was a clue to his past was simply too alluring. He found himself staring at the ceiling, listening while Anders' quill scratched parchment.

“Can't sleep?” Anders said with a slight smile, when he realised that Fenris was watching him with an incredibly disgruntled look on his face.

“...No.” Fenris inhaled deeply. “More importantly, you've been incredibly rude to somebody above your station, mage.”

Anders tilted his head and shrugged. “I suppose it's hard to see you as anything but a fellow slave in need of help. You really shouldn't expect somebody you rely on to be completely subservient all the time, seeing as how you're not a magister, Fenris.”

“Call me that again.”

“Fenris?”

“Now, do not do it again. _Ever_.” The elf grunted and flipped onto his side, sliding his arm beneath his pillow and propping it up. “You are full of surprises.”

“Yes, _ser_. If anything, that should keep things interesting.” Anders replied, returning to his work.

“...I really ought to put that collar back on.” Fenris muttered dryly.

“You could, but I won't recommend it at all if you want things to run smoothly. Pretty sure that my messing up the itinery was how Danarius managed to sniff the group out. You've ever been in one of those things?”

“ _Things_. If you meant being involved in organisations of felony and high treason, then no, I have not.”

Anders raised one single eyebrow. “Hey, I'm not stupid enough to defend myself. I meant collars.”

“Yes. Danarius wasn't above putting me in one of those, when I was to serve wine to a Qunari delegation.”

“Then you know how hard it was for me to work like that. Don't worry. If I get caught again – and I won't – I will be sure to take all of the responsibility.”

“That is not how things work in Tevinter, mage.” Fenris sighed. He closed his eyes and imagined Anders running through the sewers in Minrathous, with a legion of elven children running after him like some sort of freedom pied piper. He snorted at the mental image.

“What are you laughing at?” Anders asked.

“...Nothing.” Fenris was quick to reply. The idea of embracing the mage's misdemeanour was madness, and he supposed madness was far more relieving than the load which he had hitherto been bearing. “You must at least try to show some respect in front of others, whether or not I'm an invalid. I strongly _suggest_ knowing your limits and adhering strictly to them if you wish to survive.”

“Yes, ser.” The mage chuckled. He put down the quill and looked intently at Fenris. “I imagine that caused a diplomatic kerfluffle. A mage bringing a warrior like that to the very people who invented the collar for magi.”

Fenris allowed himself to crack a smile, if slight. “Sadly, it did not. The Qunari have restraint. I... lived among them. They are people just like you and I.”

“You lived among Qunari? Not just interacted vaguely with them from one of those meetings where you have to wear a collar that dulls your intellect?”

The elf lowered his head. He remembered, clear as day, how the mage looked with his mouth sewn shut and his eyes glazed over. Of course he would not have been able to pay attention to the details. Perhaps he did not even remember the slaughtering of his... No. Perhaps he simply did not know. “You were there, mage. When Danarius brought you out and rattled at your chains, he commanded me to kill... And I did. Those people, they were my friends.”

“They didn't have horns, as I recall.” The blond scratched his head. “...But you are right. I was so overcome with pain and fatigue that I simply could not register anything of importance. I thought Danarius was sure to kill me, and I spent most of the time trying to walk properly and not defecate in my smalls.”

“They were converts, for the most part. Some elves, mostly humans.” Fenris closed his eyes. The curl at the corner of his lip turned bitter. “If he had killed you, I would not be here.”

Anders lowered his head. “Would you have killed them if I were not there?”

Fenris thought for a moment. “...I do not know. Danarius brags of how well he trained me, and he is right. I have to consciously remind myself that not everything is as he says. And I suppose there is no point blaming a wiley fox like yourself. Even so, your wiles are clearly not enough to keep Danarius away. And I do not think that he would not be aware of whatever it is you are doing as long as he'd let you return to me. There could be spies anywhere.”

“Is that why rules and customs are emphasized so in Tevinter? It keeps society from disintegrating, given how little one trusts one another.”

“What? Is it not elsewhere? You bend your knees in front of kings, do you not? And would you trust any shady merchant that claims to sell authentic relics?”

Anders scratched his head a little bit more. “...Not as much as in Tevinter, no. Sometimes you meet kind people, but over here... Over here, things are different. Even among the slaves, where there should by right be a sense of solidarity, people seem to pit themselves against each other, often to their own detriment. ...Much like you and I, of course.”

“I suppose this is true. It _was_ a surprise to learn that there are kind people in Seheron.” Fenris stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“I do think it is a problem that is compounded by the political system here. The only people who are kept as slaves outside of Tevinter are mages, so to speak. Our subjugation is couched in terms of fear rather than in rituals. And even then we are property of the Chantry, though in effect we are Templar slaves.”

“Property of the chantry, but Templar slaves? That is almost as much property of Danarius but a slave that is only nominally mine.” Fenris thought aloud. “I fail to see a difference in that of which you speak; the institution is the same, only with more people implicated.”

The mage shrugged in response. “Eh. You have to be there, I suppose.”

“Say. Perhaps if I were to escape to Ferelden, I would be free?”

“Yes. And I would be enslaved, either way.” Anders sighed. He picked his quill back up, and tapped his chin with the feather. “...Would you escape, if you knew that it'd succeed?”

The elf closed his eyes for a moment. Why was he speaking to Anders as if he was … a friend? Had he not known to keep his mouth shut and his head low? Why did it feel like such a relief to let somebody know that he had killed his own friends with his very hands? “If I had a reason to escape, yes. But for now, I need to keep you safe, and I need to know if I indeed have a sister.”

“Can I be that reason?”

“Don't make fun of me.” Fenris huffed quietly.

Anders put the quill down and stood up. He looked at Fenris and sat on the side of his bed, something that he had never been disposed to do on his own accord. And yet, he did this willingly without a chain to pull him close with. Fenris found this most perplexing.

“Setting aside the question of your sister, would you run away with me if I… set up the occasion to do so?” Amber eyes seemed to implore him.

“...There _is_ the question of my sister.” Fenris replied, regret and determination in his voice.

“I see.” Anders shrugged, and was about to get up when Fenris held him by his wrist. “Aren't you still in pain?”

“You do not have to do anything besides... warm my bed.” Fenris replied, hastily. “The light is keeping me up.”

The mage nodded. He gently extricated himself and blew out most of the candles, leaving only a small source by the bed. When the familiar weight finally settled in beside him, Fenris' eyelids grew heavy quickly, and he drifted off to sleep.

  
  


**

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel slightly compelled to add that while I generally have no celebrity faceclaims for any of the characters in question, I have recently started liking the idea of Charles Dance (Old Man Lannister from GOT apparently; also Vetinari from Discworld) as Danarius.  
> I also wonder if this was appropriate as an end note.


End file.
